Dead
by Jayne Foyer
Summary: Al is accepted into a US university, and the brothers go to America, leaving Noa behind - as Ed feels, leaving their home behind, again. But it doesn't take long for their lives to be shaken up once again by some familiar faces... Full summary inside.
1. America

Set three years after the end of "Conqueror of Shamballa."

**FULL SUMMARY: After Al is accepted into an American college, Ed accompanies him to the US, leaving Noa behind. He feels as if he has lost home a second time, but he can't face being separated from his brother again. It doesn't take long for several counterparts from his own world to show up, and as Winry Rockbell (who prefers to be called Winnie), Roy Mustang (who is married, with a son), and others turn his life upside-down, Al acts strangely out of the ordinary with a girl named Rebecca... With tensions and tempers running high, who knows what will happen?**

**Dead**

**Chapter One: America**

A kiss on the cheek.

That's all she left me with. _A kiss on the cheek._

We're going to be a thousand miles away from each other, and all I have from her is the memory of her soft lips brushing against my face. Now how is _that _equivalent exchange?

I stood on the deck of the ship, the wind flinging my hair all over the place, thinking about what a stupid idea this was. In the distance, I saw the lights of America's shores, as far north and south as the eye can see. It was enticing and terrifying all in the same moment. I left all I knew. But now I can live again.

_Live. _What kind of stupid word is that? I'm dead in at least one world. My brother should be dead several times over already. This world I'm in right now, it is death. It is hell. But where do you go when you die here?

I leaned against the top rails of the ship, wondering how long it would take me to drown, when my brother suddenly appeared beside me.

"Don't do that, Al," I told him. "You scared me."

"Oh, Brother," he said. "Don't look so unhappy. Can't you at least pretend to be excited?"

"I _am_ excited," I replied. "It's just…" I trailed off, shaking my head.

"Oh," said Al. That familiar spark of realization appeared on his face and he nodded, staring at his hands on the rails. "That."

"Yes, that," I said, walking away from the edge of the ship. It's not like I was actually going to drown myself, so why even pretend? I walked back to our cabin. It's small and cramped, but we wanted to save as much money as possible, so now here we were, stuck in this tiny room where there is barely enough room to get dressed in the morning.

Al had all our money locked up in a secure safe. I don't know the combination. If I did, I would probably steal it all and use it to buy some sort of alcoholic beverage. I'm not very picky. As long as it'll get me drunk, I'll take it.

Al told me that that's illegal in the States. I could care less. Like hell everyone in America stays away from the drink.

I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I put my left arm behind my head. My other arm's been acting up lately. I wished my dad had still been around to fix it.

Al lingered at the doorway. "You know," he said quietly. "You can't just be live the rest of your life like this-"

"Who said anything about the rest of my life?" I said loudly. He said nothing. I sat up. "We're leaving our home-" He looked at me. "-I mean, what has been our home for the last two years. Isn't it _rational_ for me to miss it?"

"You don't miss it. You miss her."

I lay back down. "What's the difference? It wouldn't've been home without her."

He sighed. "We're landing in a few hours. Are you sure everything's ready?"

"We haven't even unpacked anything, Al. Of course everything's ready."

There were a few moments of silent. "Get some sleep," said Al, finally. "We want to be well rested when we land."

"Yeah."

"Well…okay…I'll be out on deck."

"You do that."

There was silence. After a few seconds, I lifted my head to check that he was gone. He was.

I turned over so I was facing the dark wall of the ship's cabin.

Even though I tried thinking about something else, anything else, I couldn't get her off my brain. I saw her face every time I closed my eyes, and the feel of her hand holding mine was torturing me.

…_ "Edward."_

_I smiled, my face buried deep in her neck. She was stroking my hair softly. I kissed her again._

_"Edward, stop."_

_I paused and pulled away from her. "What is it, Noa?"_

_She wouldn't look at me. "Don't do this."_

_"Why not?" I asked, pulling her closer to me. "I love you." She pulled away. Then she pressed her forehead against mine. I closed my eyes. "What do you see?"_

_"You are going to be happy," she replied, barely above a whisper. "You will love again."_

_I opened my eyes. With more force than I should have used, I pulled her down so we were eye-to-eye again. "What do you mean?" I asked. "Again?"_

_She would not open her eyes to look at me. Instead, she gently put her arms around me. Her lips brushing against my ear, she, "Al needs to speak with you." She kissed my cheek softly, then let go of me and left._

_"Noa – wait – what are you talking ab–"_

_"Ed! Guess what? I just got a letter – they've accepted me! We're going to America!...are you okay? Brother?"_

… "Brother?"

I opened my eyes. The light filtering in from our tiny porthole was dimmer than it had been earlier. Al was sitting concernedly on his bed, looking at me. There was a pregnant pause, then I wiped my eyes and said, "I'm fine."

"We're about to dock," he said quietly. "Be ready."

He left the room then. I stared at the ceiling for a second, then got up. Getting dressed into our best clothes, so we didn't look as poor as we were, I sighed.

Every time I tried to sleep. Every time, that same damn dream comes back. The last thing she said to me. The last thing she will have ever said to me.

Dammit_._ It's not supposed to be this way. I'm supposed to be _happy _here…

It didn't take me long to get ready. Al was waiting outside. He looked at me once, then we went up to the poop deck together. Everyone was gathered around the edges, pressed against the railings, waving to people on the shore. Most of the people on this ship were American, returning from some sort of journey. We were the only foreigners.

"_Give me your tired, your poor_," said Al, grinning at the horizon. "_Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door._"

I looked at him.

"What?" he asked. "That's the inscription on the Statue of Liberty." He pointed behind me, and when I looked, sure enough, there was Lady Liberty, waving her great torch our way. I rolled my eyes.

"We are _not _wretched refuse. Nor were our shores teeming."

Al laughed. "But we _are _homeless, aren't we?"

"Nah," I replied. "The University promised to house the both of us."

"That's not what I meant. We have a place to live…but we don't have a home."

"Anymore," I added. He smiled and nodded.

Moments later, we were standing on American soil. It should have been exhilarating – Al certainly seemed to think it was – and even I have to admit that the ecstatic attitude was catching.

But I kept thinking about what Al said. About us being homeless…

She was homeless when I met her.

She was there, always there! It was driving me crazy. I shook my head again, and followed Al as he weaved in and out around the crowded dock, trying to do something that I could care less about.

Suddenly, he stopped abruptly. So abruptly, in fact, that I ran straight into him.

"What the hell was that, Al?" I asked, as he offered a hand to help me up. Once I was on my feet again, I noticed he wasn't paying any attention to me. I waved a hand in front of his face. "Hello? Al? Anyone home?"

"Ed," he said, still staring at something. "Look."

I rolled my eyes, then followed his gaze. It took me a moment of searching, my eyes roving across the people on the far side of the dock, then –

A familiar face was leaning against the wall, smiling and talking to someone. It was like a beacon of light – I wondered vaguely how Al and I were the only people staring at her. Her golden hair shone in the setting sun, and when she threw her head back and laughed, I thought I could hear a choir of angels singing.

I took a step toward Winry, but Al put out a hand to stop me. "She doesn't know who we are, remember?" he whispered. "We don't even know who _she _is."

"She's Winry!"

"You can't know that. Now come on, we need to get to the University."

"I'm going to ask her for directions."

"But I have directions right here – "

I grabbed the piece of paper he was holding and chucked it into the water.

"No, you don't. Now come on, I'm going to see if she can tell us the way."

Al groaned at this, but followed me all the same.

A long, black cigarette holder was protruding from her mouth, and now and then she would release a small puff from the corner of her mouth. She was talking to another young woman, with dark, short hair and a voice that sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it.

With a confident smile, I stepped up to them. "Excuse me," I said, trying my best to be charming. "But would either of you ladies know the way to New York's University?"

"What's it to you?" asked Winry, narrowing her eyes. The other woman nudged her in the ribs, then turned to us.

"NYU's that big building right there," said the dark-haired woman, pointing to a huge structure. "It's just down the street from here."

"Why thank you," I replied. I didn't want to relinquish my chance, so I held out a hand and said, "Edward Elric, by the way. And this is my brother, Alphonse." He nodded politely at them.

She shook my hand. "I'm Rebecca," she said. "And this is Winry."

"It's _Winnie_, Becca, how many times do I have to tell you that?" said Winry, taking a long drag.

"Nice to meet you."

"Where you from?" asked Winry. "You sound…German, maybe?"

"Oh, we don't stay in one place too long," I said. "We're from…all over."

"_Winry_," said Al. "That's an uncommon name."

"So's _Alphonse_," replied Winry without batting an eyelash. "And I already said, it's _Winnie._"

"Do you two have a place to stay?" asked Rebecca.

"_Please _say you do," said Winry. "We have enough homeless on the streets as is."

"We do," I said. "My brother's part of NYU's international exchange program. They read his book and-"

"You wrote a book?" asked Rebecca, suddenly interested. "What's it called? Maybe I've heard of it."

"_Amestris_," said Al. "It's not very popular."

"_Amestris, Amestris_…" murmured Rebecca. "Nope, never read it. Interesting name, though. I'll look it up."

"Thanks," said Al. "We should get going, Brother."

"Right. I hope to see you around."

"You too," said Rebecca. "I'll look you up if I ever find your book."

Winry only grunted.

I tipped my hat gracefully at them, then I walked away, smiling faintly.

We were pretty quiet on our way to the university. I started to think about Winry. Winry Winry Winry. I remember the last time I saw her. It wasn't exactly under what you would call good conditions…our world was under attack. She fixed me up with some automail and then I was on my way. I miss her. I miss the automail she used to make for me. But I especially miss her. Even if she did hit me with a wrench now and then.

And now, to finally see her the same. I would bet anything that she's exactly the same. She could probably even set me up with some new automail if I asked.

As if he was reading my thoughts, Al said, "You do know that she's not _actually _Winry, right? The way that Noa isn't Rose?"

I stiffened. "Of course I know that. But they're bound to be alike."

"But that doesn't mean she'll like you."

"Why would you think I expect her to like me?"

"Because you want to be with Winry again. But not _that _Winry."

I sighed. "I don't care."

"Ed, don't do this! Didn't you see the way she acted back there? She didn't like you at all. Besides, she probably already has a boyfriend. With your luck, Brother, she's probably _married._ So _please_ don't chase after her."

"Al, come _on_. None of that matters. I mean, we don't know anything until we find out. And if it turns out she _does_ turn out tolike me…well, that would be nice."

Al shook his head and walked into the University building. When Al walked up to the desk, the man sitting there said, "Hello and welcome to New York University, how can I help you?"

"Yes, my name's Alphonse Elric, I'm here through the International Literature Exchange program…"

"Ah, yes, Mr. Elric, so glad to meet you, the pleasure is all mine, all mine…" The man went on to show Al where we would be staying, and tell him that he was invited to a luncheon with NYU's International Literature Committee tomorrow. After ten minutes, I followed Al back out into the sunshine.

"Alright, so this map says we now officially live…just down here…" I followed him to a row of small apartments. He led me to one on the ground floor, and, with a key the receptionist guy had given him, he opened it and entered.

It was pretty big, actually. There was one bedroom with two beds, one bathroom, a living room, a tiny office, and a dining room attached to a kitchen. I went to the bedroom to put my things away, while Al ran his finger over all the books in the small office.

"I can't believe we're actually here," sighed Al, coming into our room and sitting down on his bed.

"Me neither," I said under my breath.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"Of course not," I said. I actually kind of _was_ tired, but I didn't want to have to go through that dream again. Especially not right after seeing Winry.

Winry.

Noa.

I felt sort of guilty. I shouldn't have ever been with Noa. I knew Winry had a counterpart in this world, and I should have waited for her. Because I knew we were going to meet each other one day. I gave her up, and I will get her back. Equivalent exchange.

_Really?_ asked a voice in the back of my head. _Is it equivalent?_

_Shut up_, I thought. _I don't have the time to argue with myself._

Al nodded and said, "I think I'm going to try and get some sleep. So I can get up early for the luncheon tomorrow."

"It's only six o'clock."

"That's midnight, according to our time zone."

"Oh come on Al. Adapt."

"Tomorrow."

I smiled as he lay down and closed his eyes. Once I finished unpacking everything of mine, I put away some of Al's stuff.

It was a little funny. I had packed as little as possible – clothes, any type of paperwork I needed, and a photograph of Al and I from a year ago. Al, however, had packed what seemed to be anything and everything that would fit in his suitcases. As well as clothes, he had letters, journals, sketchbooks, and several little trinkets that he had collected since he got to this world.

His journals, as usual, were indecipherable. When I tried to read them, I could only catch a few words – my name, a couple times, and _America_, at least once, and a couple other names I recognizes. And a sentence that started, _I wish…_

I wondered what he did wish. I glanced toward him. He was drooling onto his pillow, spread-eagle on the bed. He still looked like such a kid when he slept. He _was _a kid. Physically, he was five years younger than me, instead of one. But he remembered all those years that were lost, and that's what counted.

I put a stack of journals into the drawer of the small dresser between our beds, in the same drawer as a copy of the Bible. That seemed fitting.

Then I pulled out one of his sketchbooks. I knew he was a talented artist; he doodled whenever he could. At first, he hadn't been that good, but after a while, he got the hang of it. The sketchbook I had in my hands was one of his older ones.

I opened it, vaguely curious.

I froze, still on the first page.

It wasn't very pretty, the proportions were way off, and it was a little sideways. It wasn't exactly a _good _picture… but it was our mom.

It was just her face, smiling up at me, her eyes looking in two different directions, but it was so much morethan that. I flipped through the rest of the drawings quickly. Dad. Winry. Our house. Izumi. Mom, again – or was it Sloth? It didn't matter… The homunculi. Rose. Her baby. And me.

None of them were what you would call _amazing_, but they were all pretty good likenesses.

It was weird, though. I always thought that I was the one stuck in the past. Living according to what I learned there. Al seemed to have picked up the pace of this world immediately. He _liked _it here.

I mean, yeah, he published that book about us – even though no one would ever guess it was about us, he changed all the names for some reason – but after that, it seemed like he sort of forgot about everything.

I had no idea what he had been drawing in these sketchbooks. Finding out that it had been _us_…our past, our history. It was a little too strange.

I put the book back into his suitcase and lay down on my bed. I just stared at the ceiling. I wasn't really thinking; no, my head hurt too much to think. I needed a drink.

I got up again and looked around. There was a tiny refrigerator in the kitchen. I opened it. There was a bottle of something in the back. I pulled it out and examined it.

There was a small note attached to it. _On us_, it said. I popped the cap off and took a swig. It was alcohol all right. With a sigh, I plopped down on the couch and took another drink. I vaguely remembered Al warning me that drinking was illegal here, but I didn't care. If the University was kind enough to give us a gift, who were we to refuse?

Part of me thought that I might want to offer some to Al, but I remembered that he didn't like to drink, so I shrugged it off. He wouldn't mind.

I fell asleep on the couch. It was very dark out by the time my eyes finally closed. I wasn't sure what time it was, but it was late enough that when I did fall asleep, it was a dreamless sleep, and I didn't have to be plagued by memories.

It felt like one minute later when Al was shaking me awake. "Brother! Brother, wake up!"

I groaned and opened my eyes. I still had the empty bottle in my hands. Once he saw that I was awake, Al scurried to a mirror and began fixing the tie around his neck. "I have to be at that luncheon in fifteen minutes. Promise me you won't get into trouble while I'm gone."

"My head hurts."

"That would make sense," said Al, screwing up his tie and starting over again. "You drank about a liter of liquor last night."

"Nah…wasn't that much."

He grabbed the bottle out of my hands and pointed to it. Now that I was fully awake, it _was _kind of big…

He threw it at the coffee table and went back to the mirror to attempt to wrangle his tie again. I sighed, stood up, then pulled Al around so he was facing me. His arms fell limp at his sides as I tied his tie slowly and surely, then tucked it beneath his vest.

"Thanks," he said, his voice cracking. "I should get going."

He grabbed his coat and suitcase and headed for the door. One hand still on my head, I said, "Hey, Al."

He stopped and turned around to face me. His face was weirdly white.

"You'll do great," I said. "You're a natural at this."

A big smile cracked his face, and he nodded once. "Thanks, Ed."

"Any time."

He pulled his coat on and left.

I clutched my head and fell back down on the couch.

Then I remembered what Gracia had told me about having a hangover. Once upon a time, at some kind of party, I had drunken a little too much, and Al pretty much dragged me home. The day after that, I could barely move, it hurt so much. Gracia looked me over once, then filled a glass full of cold water and gave it to me. Noa made sure I drank the whole thing. After that and a little sleep, I felt a lot better.

So I managed to get myself to stand up and go into the kitchen, where I poured myself some water and slowly drank it. After that, I went over and closed the blinds, then I went into our bedroom and closed my eyes.

I'm not really sure whether or not I slept at all, but when I felt well enough to stand up, I could hear the sound of a radio in the next room. My headache was almost all gone.

Sure enough, Al was sitting in the living room, his eyes closed, leaning his head back against the wall. I turned off the radio, and, without lifting his head, he said, "I was listening to that."

"How'd it go?" I asked him.

He opened his eyes, but otherwise did not move. "They called me a child," he said sadly. I sat down next to him.

"You are a kid, Al," I said.

"But they were _mean _about it," he continued, finally lifting his head to look at me. "They said I was _inexperienced_."

"Did they like your book?"

He nodded.

"Then why would you care what else they say about you?"

"They're all esteemed authors," he mumbled. "The public _loves _their books. And I'm just some little kid."

"Don't be so pessimistic. Your book'll catch on any time now."

"You're only saying that to make me feel better."

"So what if I am? It's true, Al."

He groaned. "They _hate _me!"

I felt a flash of panic. "They didn't kick you out, did they?"

He shook his head gravely. "No," he said, his voice hoarse. "They invited me back next week."

I couldn't understand why he was so depressed by this. Instead of trying to comprehend, however, I sighed and turned the radio back on, even though I wasn't really listening. It was better than silence, and I didn't want to hear Al complaining anymore.

_I _should be the one complaining. Al was accepted into this great University's exchange program, and I'm just here as the brother who tagged along. He had no right to complain.

But I was happy for him. Of course I was happy for him. After everything we'd been through together, it was impossible to not be happy for him. Believe me. I'd tried.

----------------------------------------

There you go. I have about sixteen chapters of this done already, but I'm going to post them very slowly. I was inspired to write this after watching "Conqueror of Shamballa" around one MILLION times, and finding that I was unsatisfied with the end. Yay.

As my sister said, typical Edward. Going on about equivalent exchange in, like, the third paragraph. Oh man I love him.

As usual, review and tell me whether or not I should just quit writing now and go live on the streets as a hobo in shame.

(Seriously, some constructive criticism would be nice).


	2. Fear

Chapter Two: Fear

The days dragged on. I didn't do much. I noticed that they refilled the bottle of liquor every night. That was good.

After a few more days, Al yawned and stretched as he came out of his bedroom, and then paused when he saw me on the couch, holding the half empty bottle of liquor.

"You know," he said. "You do actually have a bed, Brother."

"Hmm?" I asked. I was still half asleep. He sighed.

"I can't let you rot away like this anymore," he said. I closed my eyes, trying to block out all noise.

I was very rudely interrupted by the feel of freezing cold water being thrown over me. I leaped off the couch.

"Al – _what the hell?_"

He had an ice bucket in one hand, and was frowning at me. I shook off some of the excess water and looked at him. Unfortunately, I was still growing, and he stood a good ten centimeters above me.

"Seriously," I said, finally. "What the hell was that for?"

"Are you feeling alright, Brother?" He sounded concerned.

"Of course," I said, squeezing some water out of my hair. "I'm fine. Why?"

"You don't look so good."

I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. He was right. I looked pretty hopeless. My face was pale and wan, and there were dark shadows under my eyes. My hair looked like I hadn't brushed it in a month (it hadn't been _that _long) and my clothes were disheveled.

I sighed. "I'm going to take a bath."

"Will you go to the library with me after you're done?"

I glanced at him. "Can't you go by yourself?"

"I want you to come. It'd be good for you."

I nodded. "Maybe it would. Okay. I'll go."

He smiled again, that big smile he gets whenever he's really happy. It was obnoxious, sometimes, but this time I just smiled a little bit and waved him off.

I took a long time in my bath. I just sort of soaked in the water for a while. I decided I wasn't going to drink anything else for at least a week. Al didn't have to see me this way.

As I sat in the warm water, I wondered how easy it would be to just slip beneath the surface and take a breath. And it'd be over. Just like that. Would I go back to my own world?

I think I knew all along that I wouldn't. But I couldn't help myself. I slid down in the tub, until I was completely submerged. The warm water made it so I could almost feel my missing arm and leg. It was so weird.

I held my breath as long as possible. I thought I just wanted to get it over with, but every time I thought about letting out a breath I chickened out. Finally, my lungs were gasping for air. I let the remaining air out through my mouth, then prepared myself. Her face flashed through my mind. Their faces. I smiled.

And someone wrenched me up out of the water.

"_What are you doing?_" screamed Al. "Brother! What _are you doing?_" He was holding my tightly by the shoulders, staring right at me. I stared at the stump where my left leg used to be. "Look at me, Ed." I didn't move. "_Look at me!_"

Slowly, I met his gaze.

He searched my face, looking for something that obviously wasn't there. "Why?" he whispered.

I didn't say anything. He let go of my shoulders and walked a few steps away, his hands covered his eyes. Then he turned back to me and said, "Come on. Get out."

I still stayed silent while he helped me out and handed me a towel. And although he had his head in his hands almost the whole time, he wouldn't leave the room.

He helped me put my arm on. I could do my leg by myself, but I couldn't manage the arm with only one other hand. We didn't say anything to each other.

Once I was fully dressed, and my arm and leg were in their proper places, I stood up.

"Al," I said quietly.

He shook his head and turned away from me. "Al, come on," I said from behind him. "I'm sorry. I'm so…so, sorry."

"What were you thinking?"

He turned to face me. The expression on his face hurt more than all the other things on my mind right now. I wondered what I had been thinking.

"I wasn't," I finally admitted. "I'm sorry."

"You already said that."

"I know. And I'll say it again."

He looked into my eyes. This time, he wasn't searching for anything. On the contrary, he looked almost as if he was afraid of me.

"Do you still want to go to the library?"

For a split second, I thought he was going to tell me no, but then he shook his head and said, "Yes."

"Okay. I'll go get my coat."

He wouldn't take his eyes off me. The whole way to the library, and when we were there, even though he doesn't like the same books that I do. I looked for his book, briefly. _Amestris_. But when I asked the clerk about it, she said that their only copies were already checked out. I wondered if the people who had checked them out had any idea that the author was here, in this city.

I trailed the science-fiction shelves. There wasn't really anything that interested me too much, but I got Al to stay over at the fantasy shelves across the aisle. He liked fantasy.

We spent a long time there. Neither of us really read anything. Or, if we did, we didn't pay much attention to it.

It was evening when we got back to the apartment. I hadn't realized we spent so long there. I had just been thinking so hard, trying to make sense of everything.

I dropped my coat on the couch and went to sit down, but Al caught my arm. "Can't you sleep in your _actual _bed for once, Brother?"

I nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. 'Course."

He went into our room. I followed him. He was looking around. "Where'd you put my journals?"

"In the drawer."

"Which drawer?"

"That one." I pointed to it. He opened it and pulled out the copy of the Bible. He looked at it for a second, then slowly put it back down and pulled out one of his notebook. He produced a pencil and sat down.

"You know," I said finally, still standing at the door. "I…I didn't really want to die."

"Then why'd you do it?"

He looked up at me with a pleading face. He didn't want to talk about this. But I knew we had to.

"I don't know. Maybe the fact that I'm insane has something to do with it."

"You're not crazy."

"How do you know that? Doesn't this all seem just a little weird to you? I mean, do you ever wonder if this is all really happening, or if it's all a dream, and we'll wake up and be ten years old again, and it'll be like none of this even happened…" I choked up on the last part.

He looked back at his journals. "That already happened to me."

I looked at him for a second, then closed my eyes. My hands were in my pockets. "I'm sorry, Al. I really am. I can't even-"

"You said that we'd never be apart again," he said, and suddenly he was on his feet. "You told me that we would always be together, no matter where we were, and that you'd never let anything happen to either of us. And then you go and try to _kill yourself_…I don't understand, Brother! You were never depressed before! Through _everything _that we went through, you stayed strong! And then, then we move away from a _girl _and you just _fall apart!_ What's going on? Ed, _please_. Help me understand."

I looked at him, at all the pain on his face, and I shook my head. "_I_ don't even understand, Al. I'm sorry."

He just stared at me. "I already lost you once before. Don't do this to me again."

"Al, come on. You know me better than that."

"I don't know what to think about you anymore."

That stung. It took me a while to gather enough of myself to reply. "Al-"

"I don't want to talk to you right now, Brother."

Right then, I was struck by a terrible guilt. He _had _lost me before. He had watched me _die._ How could I have done this to him? I never could have forgiven myself if he were to have walked into the bathroom, and seen me there, lying in the tub, unmoving, cold and-

I lurched to the bathroom as fast as I could and threw up into the toilet.

-_dead._

"Brother!" exclaimed Al. He was at my side in a second. I choked with tears."I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I'll never, ever do anything like that again. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm so sorry."

For a second, there was nothing but blatant shock on his face, then he sighed and knelt down, letting me cry like a little kid into his shoulder.

Later that night, when he thought that I was asleep, the lamp between our beds turned on. I was about to open my eyes and ask him turn it off, but I stopped myself when I heard him open the drawer and take something out. Something that sounded heavier than any of her notebooks. After a few seconds, I chanced a glance.

I opened my eyes and closed them very quickly. I don't think he noticed. I saw that he was holding the copy of the Bible that he had picked up earlier.

I heard the unmistakable sound of pages turning, and then he paused. It sounded like he took something else out of the drawer, and then there was the sound of paper ripping. I frowned, wondering what he was doing.

Over the next hour or so, he ripped a few more pieces of paper. Then, finally, he sighed and put everything away. He turned the light out and then there was silence.

I drifted off to sleep eventually. I dreamed about Noa. But there was someone else in my dreams too… a dark figure around the edges. I caught a couple good glances of the figure, but I only saw a quick flash of blonde hair, and a little smile.

And then there was Noa. She smiled and turned and ran away. I ran after her, and after a while she stopped moving, but I wasn't going anywhere, no matter how hard I pumped my legs. Then I fell. My leg was gone. I saw that figure again, and it looked like, whoever they were, they were carrying away my automail leg. Noa and the figure laughed at me. And suddenly I was falling. Faster and faster, farther and down into the dark abyss of nothing, _nothing_, and I was _dying again_…

And just like that, I woke up. My eyes shot open, and I realized that I was drenched in sweat. I sat up and shook my head, trying to cool off a little bit. Al wasn't in the room, and I could smell something delicious coming from the kitchen. I closed my eyes and rubbed my head.

But then I noticed the Bible that Al had been looking at last night. It was sitting facing me on the dresser, with a little note in Al's handwriting that said, _Please read_ on it. I rolled my eyes, but picked it up all the same. There were several ripped pieces of paper marking pages. That must have been the ripping sound last night.

Shaking my head at the ridiculousness of _religion_, I opened it to the first bookmark.

'_Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest_' said the first one. I read it once, then a second time. What the hell? Al never seemed like one to fall for this sort of crap.

I opened it to the next one, just because Al had asked me to. _'Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free._'

I almost laughed out loud at that one. The truth? What idiots.

I got dressed and, picking up the Bible, I went out to the kitchen, where Al was leaning on the counter, buried in a book. I wrinkled my nose. It smelled as if the food was starting to burn.

I slid up to the stove and turned the heat off. Al looked up just as I began to attempt to scrape the eggs off the pan.

"I can do that," he said, reaching out for the pan and spatula.

"It's fine," I replied.

"Please, can I do it?"

I looked at him oddly. He had put his book down, and looked as if he really wanted me to give the pan to him.

"Why, you think I'll try to burn myself to death with it?" I teased him.

He paused for a second, then nodded. "Yeah. I do."

I looked at him, the smile on my face fading. Then I sighed and handed it to him. "What are you reading?" I asked, glancing at his book.

He replied, "Just a little something I picked up from the library. Sort of about a parallel world. Looked interesting."

"Oh," I said. Then I crossed the kitchen and picked up the Bible again. "Did you leave this out last night?"

"Yeah."

"Were you reading it?"

"A little. Did you read the passages I marked?"

"Some of them."

"What did you think?"

I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I said, "They were nice." I paused, then I said, "But you know you can't believe them. None of it is true."

He said nothing, only ran water over the pan.

I sighed impatiently. "Al, are you really afraid of me?" I demanded.

He looked at me, a puzzled expression on his face. "Why would I be afraid of you?"

I just looked at him.

He shook his head. "No, Ed, I'm not afraid _of _you. I'm afraid _for_ you. I mean… you always seemed so rational, but…" He shrugged. "I don't know, lately."

"Is that why you wanted me to read these?" I asked him, gesturing towards the Bible. "Did you think they would make me feel better?"

"Didn't they?"

"Of course not. Everything that's in here is crap," I said, holding up the book. He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Maybe not everything."

"Oh, Al, don't tell me you're suddenly a _believer_."

"No, that's not what I'm saying…it's just, there's a lot of good stuff in there. It's a good read."

"You did _not _read the whole thing last night."

"Of course I didn't, Brother. But I did read parts of it. It seems…" He paused, struggling to find the right word. "…_harmless._ There's nothing really bad in there. It's all about being nice to everyone and forgiveness and everything." He shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought you might want to see some of it."

I nodded as he continued to wash the pan. "I think they have maids who come in here and do that," I said.

"I don't like making other people clean up my mess," he said smoothly. I nodded.

"You never did."

There was more silence.

"Did you read all of them?" he asked abruptly. "All of the pages I marked?"

"No," I said, looking at the book. "There's still one more, I think."

He thought for a moment. "It's a good one. You should read it."

"Maybe later."

"Good."

There was more silence. But this time, there was something else. It wasn't quite hostile, but things weren't…normal. There was something in the air that I was unfamiliar with. It felt wrong, like I didn't belong...

I had to get out of the room. Faster than necessary, perhaps, I went into the living room. Al said, "Brother?"

I saw the door, and something strange stirred inside of me. The door. Outside. Freedom. I began to open it, but Al put a hand on my shoulder.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I don't know," I muttered. "Anywhere but here."

I took another step, but his grip tightened on my shoulder. "But _where?_"

"I don't know! Somewhere where I don't have to deal with _you_."

He let go of me. I took a few steps into the open air, then turned around and saw his lanky frame still hovering in the doorway. "I didn't mean that," I said.

"I think you did," he replied quietly.

"No, Al, I – I didn't mean it like that_._"

"It's okay. I would feel the same way if I were you."

"No, you wouldn't!"

My voice was strangely loud. It echoed several times, then, just as silence was restored, I continued, "You wouldn't Al. Don't kid yourself. You're stronger than I am."

"Only because you taught me to be!"

"You learned from my mistakes," I said softly. "But I never did."

He looked at me. His lips formed the words, "Don't go."

I looked once towards the open air, towards freedom, where I would never have to deal with this annoying, inescapable, amazing part of my life ever again.

Then I sighed and walked back into the apartment.

"You give me far too many chances," I said to Al as I passed him. He grinned.

"You saved my life," he said. "_Twice_."

I smiled. "So I guess we're even now."

His grin flickered and disappeared. "I guess we are."

We turned the radio back on and sat in silence for a while. He didn't really look at me, and I stared at the ceiling.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I asked him finally. "Isn't the Literature Committee having another luncheon today?"

"A supper, actually," he replied. "But I'm not going."

I nodded. We both heard the words he didn't say.

Later that evening, he said he wasn't going to go to bed until I do, but he fell asleep right in the armchair. I wonder how much sleep he had gotten last night.

Lounging on the couch, I spotted the Bible over in the kitchen. There was still that last paper bookmark sticking out of the top. I got up and retrieved it, for some inexplicable reason.

And, what was even stranger, when I sat back down on the couch, I opened it up to the last marked page. The piece of paper fluttered to the ground as I searched for the underlined passage.

It said: '_Peace I leave with you; My peace I now give and bequeath to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid._'

I read the words, then I looked at Al, sleeping with his mouth hanging open on the armchair.

I found the note he had put on the top of the Bible. _Please read._ Underneath, I wrote, _Why don't you?_ and made sure that the bookmark of that last passage was too hard to miss.

I put the book on the coffee table right in front of him, then left to go to bed.

**--------------------****--------------------**

What do you think? Absolute crap?


	3. Help Needed

Chapter Three: Help Needed

That Sunday, Al missed another luncheon because he wanted to stay with me. We started to go out a little more, though. We tried a few New York restaurants. And we went to the library a few more times. They actually had a pretty good selection. Whoever had _Amestris _checked it back in. I didn't check it out, but it made me happy to see Al's name next to the names of other famous authors on the shelf.

I looked at the non-fiction section. It was alright. The science books weren't the best, but I guessed I could get Al to take me to the University's science department if I was really interested.

Which I was, really. When I first got to this world, I only really like science for my own benefit – to get back home. But since Alfons was killed, I started to get interested for real. I hate it, because I can't share that passion with him anymore, but…that's equivalent exchange, I guess.

And who would I rather have had? Alfons or Al?... It's an impossible question. I know I wouldn't have wished death on Alfons, but I would have done…almost…anything to see Al again.

But it's not like any of that mattered. Alfons was dead, and my brother was here with me. That's how it turned out. I didn't even have to choose.

Anyhow, in the middle of the week, when I was reading an interesting book and sipping from a glass that I had filled with the liquor that had been refilled yet again, Al strode up to me and took the glass out of my hand.

"Hey, I was drinking that!" I said, making a swipe for it. He held it out of my reach and looked at me seriously.

"You need to get a job."

I frowned. "What?"

"I'm serious. I have a writing gig with the University, but I don't want you sitting around here mooching off me."

"I promise not to mooch that much."

He rolled his eyes. "Brother, please. I think it would be good for you."

"What kind of job did you have in mind?"

"I don't know. You could work in a factory."

"_A factory?_"

"It was just an idea!"

I sighed. "I'll look into it."

"Are you lying?"

"Nah, no, of course not. Give me my drink back."

He groaned and I grabbed my glass out of his hand. As he stomped away, I heard him mutter, "You're _such _a drunk!"

Upon hearing this, I stopped and looked at the alcohol in my hand. Maybe he was right. This couldn't be a healthy habit. You know what? He was right about everything. I needed to get a job. And I needed to quit drinking.

The next morning, earlier than I had been up for the past week or two, I got up and got ready for the day. While Al was still sleeping, I took a bath (no suicide attempts this time), got dressed, and managed to make my hair look quasi-professional.

Just as I was pulling on my coat, Al woke up. Rubbing his eyes, he came to the doorway of the bedroom and looked at me. "What's the occasion?" he asked, scrutinizing me.

"I'm going out-" He raised one eyebrow. "-to find a job."

He raised the other eyebrow, a feat I couldn't help but admire. "Are you joking?"

I laughed. "No, Al, I'm completely serious. Is it that hard to believe?"

He thought for a moment, then said, "Yeah. It is."

I shook my head. "Well. I'll probably be gone for a couple hours. Don't you have classes to take or something?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I do. Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Al, I'm not stupid. I won't throw myself into the path of a moving automobile."

"You promise?"

I smiled. "I promise."

He nodded again. "Okay. Don't get into any trouble. Be back soon."

"I will be. 'Bye, Al."

In lieu of a goodbye, he just nodded his head solemnly. I left.

For almost an hour, I just explored the city. It was huge. I could have spent _days _wandering around.

I asked around, and was directed to a couple places, but it seemed that nowhere was hiring. Which was strange, because I always had thought of America as this new land that presented people with the chance to start over and get rich.

I guess not.

I spent a little of the money that I had on my on a small sandwich from a deli for lunch. I even looked there for a job, but they weren't hiring.

It was still in the afternoon when I went back to the apartment. Al wasn't there. I assumed he took advantage of my absence and went to some sort of University meeting. I thought for a while about what I'd like to do. Something that helped people. And something that took brains. It wasn't like I wasn't smart enough to find a job – no, I was well-educated. My father had taught me all about this world, and then some. If someone just recognized my intellect, then I would have no problem finding some place to work.

Al got back in the late evening. When he saw me, he asked, "No luck?"

I shook my head. "Nothing."

"That's too bad. Maybe you could try tomorrow."

"Yeah."

He lingered in the room a little longer. I looked at him. "What's up?"

"Can I…is it okay if I go to the luncheon tomorrow?" I remembered it was Saturday today. "I won't if you don't want me to, but I just want to make another appearance and if it's okay with you then I'd like to go take classes at the University but only if you're alright with that because if you're not I'll stay home and I won't-"

"Al, stop," I said, smiling. "Calm down. I'm fine with you going to the luncheon tomorrow, and then classes after that. But come on, Al. You don't have to _ask _me about everything."

"Oh. Okay then. I just wanted to make sure you were alright with that."

He didn't move.

"Is there something else-"

"Cannagochurwithecomtimorrow?"

I frowned. "What?"

He took a deep breath. "Can I go to church tomorrow?"

"Church? Why? What for?" I asked, sitting straight up.

"Well, most of the committee members go to church before lunch, and I want them to like me, so I think that if I go with them then… can I, Brother?"

It took all my strength to say, "Of course you can. I don't mind. And once again, you don't have to ask me before you do something."

"Right. Um. Thanks."

He disappeared. I shook my head. He's a little odd sometimes, but I really do love him. I don't know what I would've done without him.

The next morning, he was gone when I woke up. He left a note saying that he would be home at one o'clock and that I should look around for a job some more.

So I did. Once I looked presentable, I left the apartment again. The weather was turning brisk, and I could see my breath if I tried. So I turned the collar of my coat up, wore my old white gloves and a hat that Noa had said looked good on me, and made my way through the crowded streets of New York.

I tried a few more places, but it was just like yesterday. Nothing. So I decided to walk around some more, which is how I ran into a familiar face.

I was striding down a street, glancing around for any _Now Hiring _signs. I had no such luck. I paused to look into the window of a small pawn shop that looked interesting, when a young woman sprinted down the street and stood behind me.

"Um, hello," I said, raising my eyebrows at her, but she just stared at something behind me. I followed her gaze and was surprised to see three or four policemen running after her, batons waving menacingly. Out of instinct, I placed myself protectively in front of her.

Once they caught up to me, the one in front said, "Sir, please move out of the way."

"Why should I?" I asked.

"She's under arrest, sir."

"Is that so?" I asked, glancing at the young woman. She looked familiar. I could tell from her expression that she was trying to hide the fact that she was frightened. "Well, gentlemen, I'm afraid that's not necessary. She's with me."

A policeman in back lunged forward, the man in front glared at me, and everything went black.

I woke up after a while, in a comfy chair. My head hurt, but it wasn't an alcohol hurt this time. I looked around.

I was in a small office. It was connected to a small jail - I was at a police station. I tried to stand up.

"Ah, Mr. Elric, good to see that you're awake," said the police officer from earlier, coming into the room. "How are you feeling? Would you like a drink?"

"Uh – I'm fine," I said. How did they know my name?

My question answered itself when I saw my wallet on the desk in the room, and Al's library card lying out next to it. They thought I was my brother. They thought they had just knocked unconscious a member of the International Literary Exchange Program. I almost laughed. I picked my wallet up.

"We're sorry, sir," said the policeman. "But we thought that-"

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled. "Where's the girl?"

The policeman frowned, the pointed to the jail. "Behind bars, sir. She won't bother you again."

"She wasn't bothering me. Did you give her a phone call?"

"Er, no, sir," he said.

"Can I talk to her?"

"Of course, sir."

I nodded and walked out to the jail cell. The young woman was sitting in the corner, glaring at something.

"Hey kid," I said. She glanced up.

"What do you want?" I noticed she had a black eye.

"You look awfully young to be getting into this much trouble," I said. "Need a phone call?"

She looked at me for a second, then nodded. "Yeah."

"Got a number?"

"Yeah." She recited it several times until I had it memorized. "Ask for Riza," she said.

I nodded, still looking at her. "Hey," I said. "You're that girl from the docks, aren't you?"

She raised an eyebrow. "…excuse me?"

"You and that other girl. Winry."

Her face brightened as she remembered. "Oh yeah! I remember you…I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Edward," I said. "Edward Elric."

"Right. Well, thanks for helping me out."

"No problem. And what was your name?"

"Rebecca Miethke."

"Okay. I'll be right back."

She nodded and I went back into the policeman's office. "Excuse me," I said. "May I use your telephone?"

"Of course, of course," flustered the man. "Anything at all, Mr. Elric."

He pointed towards the phone and left the room. I rolled my eyes at him and dialed the number that Rebecca had told me.

After a few rings, someone picked up. "Hello?"

"Hello, I'm calling for Riza…"

"This is she."

"Right…" I was slightly stunned at the familiarity of the voice. "I'm calling from the police station… there's a Rebecca Miethke here who needs to be picked up."

"Ah, _sh_- are you joking?"

"No, ma'am."

"Great. Just great. I'll send someone over right away."

"Yes ma'am."

"Which police station?"

I gave her the streets. She swore. "Thanks for letting us know," she said, and before I could say, "No problem" the other line went dead. I hung the phone up. That was easy.

I went back to see the girl. "I called the number you gave me. She said she's sending someone over."

Rebecca sighed. "Thanks so much. I don't know what I would have done if you weren't here."

There was a short silence.

"So…did you read my brother's book yet?"

She looked at me. "Um…oh yeah, what was it called?... _Alexis_?"

"_Amestris_," I corrected. "It's pretty good."

"Oh. Well, because you helped me out, I promise to read it."

"Great."

There was another silence. "You don't have to stay," she said finally.

"I want to make sure you get out of here okay," I said. "I'll just stick around for a while longer."

She said nothing at first, then there was a quiet, "Thanks."

Finally, the door swung open and someone barged in. "Becca what did I tell you about using violence, didn't I say that you _never _use your-"

"Hi Roy."

For at least ten seconds, I was so shocked that I could not speak. Then, Roy Mustang turned to me and said, "And who is this?"

"Edward Elric, sir," I said, holding out my hand. He shook it suspiciously.

"He called Riza," said Rebecca. "And he tried to stop them from arresting me."

One of the officers unlocked the jail and let the girl out. Mustang looked me up and down once, then sighed. "Well I guess I should thank you, then," he said. "Usually we don't figure out she's been arrested until she's been gone for a day or two."

Rebecca smiled sheepishly at me as my eyes widened. "Come on," said Rebecca and we walked out of the station. It was dark. I wondered how long I'd been out. "Where are you headed?" she asked me.

"NYU," I said.

"That's the same way we're going," said Rebecca. "You can walk with us!"

I nodded and we started walking. I wasn't exactly sure where we were going, so I sort of followed them.

"You a student?" asked Mustang. I shook my head.

"No, I'm not. My brother is, though. He's in the exchange program."

"The literature exchange program?"

"Yeah."

"Interesting. So where you from?"

"British-born, but my brother and I never settled down in Europe. We're hoping to change that here."

Mustang nodded. It was strange, how easily I could believe that we were complete strangers. "Good luck, kid. Things aren't going to be this good for long."

"…right."

I looked at Mustang, then at Rebecca. Then back at Mustang, then to Rebecca a second time. "Are you Rebecca's father?"

Rebecca laughed. Mustang smiled. "Not biologically, no. But I guess you could say that." He smiled at her. "My wife runs a shelter for young women who need a home. Becca's been with us for a while now."

They stopped walking. I realized we had reached NYU.

"Listen, kid," said Mustang, suddenly serious. "You got a job?"

"Not at the moment."

"Want one?"

"Yeah, actually."

He smiled. "Here's my card. Stop by sometime. I'll see what I can do."

"Wow… thank you."

"Don't mention it. You looked out for Becca; it's the least I can do. See you around."

"You too."

"'Bye Edward!" called Rebecca as they strode away.

I stood there, shocked for a moment, then finally looked at the card he had handed me. _Mustang's Mechanic Garage_ it said. There was an address and a telephone number under that.

It was a little too much to take in right now. Roy Mustang just offered me a job? As a _mechanic?_

In some sort of daze, I returned to our apartment. Al was lying on the couch, almost asleep. He sat up when I opened the door. "I was wondering when you'd get home."

"Sorry," I said. "I ran into some trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Some cop knocked me out when I tried to defend this girl. The same girl from the docks the day we got here. Rebecca, remember?"

"The one with Winry?"

"Yeah, that's her."

"Oh…did they arrest you?"

"No. They thought I was you, so they apologized. And guess what else?"

"What?"

"I got a job offer!" I handed him the card.

He read it once slowly, then turned it over and read it again.

"_Mustang's_ Mechanic Garage?" he asked dubiously. "As in…"

"Roy Mustang, yes," I said. "He's the one who came and got Rebecca out of jail."

"What was she in for?"

I thought for a second. "You know…I didn't ask. Hmm."

Al sighed. "Of course. I leave you alone for a couple hours, and you make friends with a criminal. Brother, what am I going to do with you?"

"I don't think she was a criminal. I think she was just in…a tight spot."

"A tight spot. _Really._"

"Don't look at me like that. Anyway, how did church go?"

Al seemed to cheer up a little. "It went really well. They had these little psalm books that we sang from-"

"_You _sung?"

"Yes, and then we heard the sermon, which was kind of boring, but I liked it, and then he read us a Bible verse, and then we went to lunch and I talked about church with them and it was very nice. I think they like me better now."

I smiled. "That's great. I told you things would work out."

"And I told you that you could get a job."

"I guess we should start trusting each other more."

He caught my eye. Then, he smiled and nodded. "Yeah, Brother. We should."

I smiled back at him, then groaned. "That cop hit me pretty hard. I think I need to sleep."

"Wait, what if you have a concussion?"

"Ah, Al, I don't have a concussion."

"Oh come on, Ed, let me have a look."

"Hey, back off, how would you-"

"Don't you know how to spot a concussion? It's not that hard."

"Argh! Get _off _me, Al!"

"Don't go to sleep, Brother! I think you do have a concussion!"

"Oh, great. Thanks, Doctor Elric."

"You're welcome."

I rolled my eyes as Al turned on the radio.

"Don't go to sleep, Ed," he repeated. "I wouldn't be able to handle it if you didn't wake up."

I opened my eyes. His anxious face was hovering above me.

"Don't worry, Al," I said. "I'll still be here in the morning."

"Really?"

"...I promise."

**----------------------------------------**

Still setting up the premise for later, and reveling in Alphonse and Edward cuteness. Stay tuned; next chapter gets interesting.


	4. Mustang's Mechanics

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the kind reviews! Your constructive criticism is very, very appreciated. But to clarify a few points: Ed and Al are in America in the middle of the 1920s, during the Prohibition Era. That means alcohol is illegal - however, the police turn a blind eye to esteemed institutions like New York University. Bribery may or may not be involved there.**

**Also, Edward isn't taking any classes because Alphonse was accepted into a Literature Exchange Program. This was because he wrote a book, called _Amestris_, in which he described everything that happened to them back in their home world. Edward was not accepted into this, and therefore was not accepted into NYU, period. And, partly, he doesn't want to take any classes, because he feels mentally and emotionally exhausted right now. Maybe he'll take some later, maybe he won't. Keep reading and find out! :)**

Chapter Four: Mustang's Mechanics

The next day, Al left in the morning for a class he wanted to go to. But not before he told me that he would meet me at Mustang's Mechanic Garage at noon for lunch. I assured him I would be there, then took a long time to get ready.

And then I left the apartment, locked the door behind me, and went to accept Roy Mustang's offer.

When I arrived at the address on the card, there was a Mustang was under the hood of an automobile with a wrench. I cleared my throat, and he extracted himself from the greasy metal and turned around.

"Edward!" he said when he saw me. "I was hoping you'd stop by today." He pulled off thick gloves and wiped his hands on a grimy towel. "So what do you think? You want to work in my garage?"

"Yeah," I said. "Definitely."

"Any good with your hands?"

I paused for a moment, then said, "Yeah, I guess."

He laughed. "Good! When can you start?"

"Um, any time, I guess."

"How does today sound?"

"Oh. Um. Fine, I guess."

"Great!" said Mustang, clapping me on the back. "Go into that office right there," he said, pointing to a small building. "And tell Winnie that you're the newest recruit. She'll set you up, and then come back out here and I'll show you the ropes. Alright?"

"Okay," I said, happy with how easy this sounded. He grinned at me.

"Glad to have you on the team, Ed – can I call you Ed?"

"Can I call you Roy?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Then sure."

He smiled and tugged his gloves back on. "Oh, and Winnie's feeling a little rude today," he added. "If she snaps at you, just ignore it."

"Alright." I followed his directions and went into the office he had pointed at. Sitting at the desk, smashing a cigarette into an ashtray, sat Winry, in all her splendor and beauty. "Hi," I said dumbly.

She glanced up at me. "Can I help you?"

She didn't sound too friendly. "Oh, yeah. Mustang, I mean, Roy sent me in here. I'm the new recruit."

"Oh, joy," she said, rolling her eyes. She looked me over once, then again. "You're the guy who helped Becca, aren't you?"

"That's me."

"Great. Another _hero_." She sighed and got up, motioning for me to follow her. In a small back room, she bent down, rummaging around for something. "Michael's old uniform would probably fit you," she said, pulling out a navy blue uniform. "He was about your size." She threw the uniform at me. "Now come with me."

We went back to the desk. She sat down on one side and me on the other.

"Hours are nine to seven every day, except for Sundays, which you get off. Lunch breaks are noon to one. Can you do that?"

I nodded.

"Rates of pay are negotiable. We're not the richest company, so don't expect them to be extravagant. How does…_this _sound?"

She wrote a number on a piece of paper and slid it to me. I looked at it once, then nodded. "That looks good."

"Alright. Well, that was easy."

"Um, yeah. Okay."

"Put that uniform over your clothes and go see Roy. He'll explain everything else."

I nodded and did so.

Roy was still working under the hood of the automobile. He saw me coming and attempted to pull himself out, resulting in him banging his head on the hood. He swore under his breath, then smiled at me.

"Welcome to Mustang's Mechanics," he said, grinning at me. I smiled back sheepishly and nodded. "Now, do you know anything about cars?..."

For the next hour or so, he showed me pretty much everything to do with how automobile work, and how to fix them. It was a good job, really; it required thought as well as muscle. And I was surrounded by familiar faces, which comforted me.

Al arrived with lunch in a bag at the start of my lunch break. He took one look around the place, then grinned. "Wow."

"It's a good idea, isn't it?" I asked. Roy was in the small office with Winry, laughing uproariously at something.

"I just can't believe you found so many people you recognize," he said, shaking his head. "It's…unreal."

"It's great," I said. "Just like home."

There was silence. After a while, Roy came out of the office. "So is this the author brother I'm hearing so much about?" he asked.

Al began to salute, but, just in time, he made a save and held out his hand. "Yes sir. Alphonse Elric, sir." I tried to catch Al's eye. He didn't need to be saying _sir _so much.

"Roy Mustang," he said, shaking Al's hand. "Good to finally meet you. I hear you're a student at the University…"

"Oh, yes. I just came from a class, actually," replied Al, pointing at a pile of books.

"Oh really?" asked Roy. "I took a few courses at NYU myself. It's a fine school."

"Yes sir."

Roy looked at Al oddly for a second, then said, "I'm sorry, but have we met before? You seem familiar…"

I think my heart skipped a beat. Al just looked at him, stunned for a second, then he said breathlessly, "Um, I don't think so, sir."

"No need to call me sir, kid," said Roy, shaking his head. "I'm just a man, like you or him."

"You in the military?" I asked. I couldn't help it. Roy looked at me for a second, with that same odd look he had given Al, then replied.

"Army reserves," he said.

I nodded, feeling a hint of color rising to my cheeks. What a stupid question. Like it mattered.

"He was in the last war," said Winnie. I hadn't even noticed her come out. "We think it seriously messed him up in the head."

He smiled and shook his head. "Don't listen to her," he said. "She's a weird one."

Winnie smiled at him. It was the first time I had seen her smile. I noticed I was staring at her. "Lunch break's over," she said finally. "Time to get back to work."

I stood up. Al picked up all his things. "I'm going to go see if I can catch another class," he said, a hint of a grin on his face. "I'll see you later, Ed."

"See you, Al."

He left. Roy and I went back to the automobiles.

After a while of silence, he asked, "Why did you come with him?"

"What?" I asked.

"Your brother," he replied, still working on the car. "If he was accepted and you weren't, why'd you come with him? Didn't you have other family, or something, back in your home?"

I paused in my work. It was sort of an odd question. Then again, this Roy Mustang seemed to be sort of an odd man. "I don't know. We've just always stuck together, you know? I didn't want him to be alone here."

A short pause, then, "What were things like, before you came here? I've always dreamed of going to Europe someday…is it as good as the stories tell you?"

I smiled. "I wouldn't know. I've never heard any stories. But most of it is a good place. There are… a lot of good people there. But also a lot of bad people."

"There are bad people everywhere."

"But there are good people, too."

Roy pulled himself from out of under the hood. "What happened to you?" he asked thoughtfully. "You talk like you know something. Like you have a secret."

I smiled. "It's kind of hard to believe."

"I believe in plenty of things that other people find hard to believe."

I glanced at him. "Like what?"

"Well, I believe that I'm not crazy, for example." At my expression, he continued, "My wife has this strange idea that I should be scarred for life because of the war. She keeps trying to convince me that I'm insane." He smiled at me. "I started to believe it. But then I remembered I wasn't an idiot, and I'm just as sane as I want to be."

He went back under the hood of the car. "So are you going to tell me what happened to you or not?" he asked.

I thought about his words for a second. Then, slowly, I began to work on the car again. Maybe I could tell him a little of the truth.

"I left a girl," I said quietly.

"What was her name?" he asked. But he didn't sound nosy. Just dimly interested.

"Noa."

"Ah. I see."

I could tell from his voice that he knew I wasn't telling him everything. But I don't think he ever expected me to tell me the whole truth anyway.

So this was the way days passed. The weather got steadily colder, until finally, one day, Al and I awoke to a thin layer of snow on the ground outside. It was one of those freezing winter evenings when Al burst into the apartment and started babbling on incoherently.

After a moment of attempting to understand, I held my hands out and said, "Al, come on, slow down. What happened?"

He looked about ready to explode with happiness. "Brother! Guess what just happened?"

"What?"

"I've been offered a weekly column in the _New York Times_! Can you believe it?" He laughed. "This is so perfect!"

I stared at him for a second, then my face broke out into a smile. "That's great, Al. It really is."

He sat down on the couch and stared dreamily into the distance. "I can't believe it," he said. "I just can't believe it. It's so…" he paused, struggling to find the right word, "mind-boggling. Remarkable. Incredible. _Amazing._"

I laughed. "You're like my own personal walking, talking thesaurus."

He grinned. "I'm glad my talents are of some use." He paused, then said, "I need to get working. I want to write a few different articles, then decide which one I like best."

"Oh, Al." He looked at me. I shook my head. "Good luck with that. And have fun."

He nodded, that big grin still plastered across his face. I couldn't help but smile in return.

That night, as I as lying in bed, I could almost hear the soft flakes of snow hitting the walls of the apartment. It was a steady, comforting sound. I closed my eyes, and was surprised to find myself asleep in a few minutes.

But then the dream started.

It was Noa again. She was smiling at me, holding my hand. But then, even as I watched, her face morphed into Winry's – _Winry's_, not Winnie's – and she smiled, and I smiled. She kissed me. But it wasn't the feel of her lips. How could it have been? I'd never kissed Winry. I didn't know how it felt to be that close to her. So it was Noa's arms that held me close, even though it was Winry's eyes and hair and nose and face…

And then everything disappeared. I was standing in front of a burning house. It was my house. Our house. And it was burning. Suddenly, there was a bucket of water in my hands. I threw it at the house and the fire went out. For some reason, I walked into the house. I checked a few of the familiar rooms. Nothing. No one. But then…

That _thing_, that _creature_ was staring at me. It wasn't moving, but its glowing eyes watched me, mocking everything my mother had been.

Suddenly, it was obscured by a hulking figure. "You don't want to see that, son," came a tired voice. I felt a stab of pain in my arm and leg.

Someone was grabbing my shoulders. I struggled against their hold, trying shake them off, but also the feeling of those eyes staring at me, daring me to love the hideous thing that I had created…

I awoke with a scream. Al was standing over me. He had been the one who was shaking me. He stopped when he saw my eyes open. I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.

"Ed! Are you alright?"

My eyes flickered his way. "I'm fine. Just… just a bad dream."

"What was it about?"

There were a hundred answers on the tip of my tongue. _Mom and Dad. Noa. Winry. You._

Instead, I just shrugged and sat up. "Nothing," I said. "…I…I can't even really remember anymore."

He nodded. I glanced outside. "What time is it?"

"Four in the morning."

"Oh." He looked tired. "Go back to sleep," I said. "I just need a drink of water."

"Right. Okay."

He fell back onto his bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out cold. I sighed and got up and went to the kitchen. Instead of getting water, however, I checked to see if the bottle of liquor had been refilled. It had. I poured myself a glass. Just a glass. It couldn't do any harm.

I ended up having several glasses before I finally stumbled back to bed, too exhausted to think. My thoughts were becoming fuzzy, which was good. I couldn't dream in this state. At least, not too much.

**---------****--------------------**-----------

I don't especially like this chapter, but it's leading up to some very, _very _important stuff, so keep reading. Also, this was written so long ago, I can barely remember writing it. Very strange.

I am starting chapter seventeen right now, so there will be plenty more updates soon. Thank you so much for reading! More constructive criticism, maybe?


	5. Winnie

**A/N: My gosh, thank you so much for all your constructive criticism! I really, really appreciate it. Well-rounded reviews are my best friend! Enjoy the chapter!**

Chapter Five: Winnie

The next day, I woke up with a hangover. Al left early, so he didn't bother to wake me up, which meant I was late getting to work. When I arrived, Roy just glanced at me.

"Sorry," I said, trying to think up an excuse. My mind was too sluggish to come up with one.

"Quite alright," he said. "It's just one day."

I was silently grateful that the Roy in this world was so different from the one in my own.

I worked slowly, because my head was still pounding, but I made sure to do everything right. Or I thought I did. I only had a limited attention span, to tell the truth.

At one point, however, I heard a loud ripping noise. Automatically, I checked the small exposed portion of my arm, and there it was. A tear in the odd colored 'skin' of my mechanical arm. I sighed, trying to pull my sleeve down to cover it.

"What was that_?_" came Roy's voice. Damn. I had hoped he hadn't heard.

"Nothing," I said, maybe a little bit too quickly.

He looked at me. "Didn't break anything?"

"No," I replied. "Everything's fine."

He nodded once, then slowly walked around sizing up me and the car at the same time. I continued to work, trying to ignore him.

Suddenly, he let out a low whistle. "Now _that_," he said, "is impressive."

I already knew what he was staring at. I rolled back the sleeve, exposing the rip. It had only gotten larger, and was more pronounced now.

It was mere seconds before Roy had his eye up to it, inspecting it from every angle. "You weren't in the last war, were you?" he asked thoughtfully. "You seem a little young."

"No, I wasn't," I replied. "Lost my arm when I was a kid."

"This is extraordinary," he said. "How much control do you have, does it stop at the fingers?"

I held up my hand, clenching and unclenching my fist. "It's a pretty good model," I said.

He nodded, without looking up. "I don't suppose you have an extra…I'm sure Winnie would love to see this…"

"Yeah, I have an extra," I said, a thrill of adrenaline running through my system. Winnie. Mechanical limbs…

"Who designed these?" he asked, finally looking at me. "You?"

"No," I said. "My father did."

"Sounds like a remarkable man," Roy said.

I paused for a second, then nodded. "Yeah. He was."

Then, "How'd you lose the arm?"

"It's a long story."

Roy nodded. Then, out of the blue, he asked, "Hey, Ed, do you know anything about rockets?"

"Rockets? Yeah, actually. A fair amount."

His face brightened. "Really? You're not pulling my leg?"

"No – a friend of mine studied rockets back in Europe. I learned a lot from him."

"Well, then," said Roy. "I think I have a job for you."

"What do you mean?"

He smiled. "Officially, I'm not supposed to tell you anything, but to hell with that. See, Ed, there's this top secret experiment going on…"

The tale he spun seemed almost too hard to believe, but he sounded serious the whole time. I agreed and told him I would go with him when he needed to go in a few weeks.

I went home and told Al. He seemed skeptical. But this was just too good to pass up. A chance to work on actual rockets – _government rockets!_ It was…unbelievable.

That night, I fell into a dreamless sleep. It was perfect – everything was perfect.

And the next morning, a Saturday, came bright and early, just as nice as the day before. I sighed and got ready.

Al was in the living room, a pencil in his hand. But he wasn't writing something – no, the lines he was making were too long, too curved…

"What are you drawing?" I asked, glancing over his shoulder.

He shrugged and closed the notebook. "Nothing."

"Aw, come on Al, let me see."

He looked at me, then his notebook again and handed it to me. I flipped to the page he had been working on.

It was an odd, unfamiliar drawing. I looked at it from several views, but I still could not decipher what it was.

"Al," I said. "What is this?"

He shrugged and mumbled something incoherent.

"What?"

"It's me. Or, how I was. Before."

Even with only this meager explanation, I knew what he was talking about. "This isn't what it looked like."

"It's not supposed to be how the armor looked. It's…it's how the armor felt to me, while I was in it. I don't know, it's stupid."

"No, it's not," I said, even though I really did think it kind of was. "It's not stupid, Al. It's just… different."

He took the notebook back. "I had a dream last night," he said quietly.

"Oh yeah? Wanna tell me about it?"

"I was back the way I used to be," he said. "But I was here. And everyone was normal. Except for me. It was…scary."

I frowned at him. "Why scary? What do you mean, was it like a nightmare?"

He shook his head. "No, no, that's not it. It was just unsettling." He glanced at me. "I didn't actually _like _having to walk around as a suit of armor for four years, you know."

I murmured, "Thanks." But he didn't hear me.

He stirred his tea, looking at something beyond my shoulder. I shook my head and got up. I had to be at the garage in half an hour. "You got any classes today?" I asked him.

"Yes," he said. "But I don't know if I'll go in."

I clapped him on the back. "Come on, Al, it's just a dream. Don't let it ruin the day."

"Look who's talking."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to work now. 'Bye."

He nodded and I left.

When I got to the garage, there was a small '_closed_' sign in the window. I frowned, then knocked on the door of the small office attached to the garage.

The door opened a tiny bit, and Roy said, "Can't you read? We're clo- oh, Ed!"

He opened the door all the way. "I guess I forgot to phone you. Well, come on in, since you're here."

I raised an eyebrow, but followed him in anyway.

"Who is it?" came a terse voice.

"Just Ed," called Roy in reply. "It's okay."

I started to get a little nervous. What was so important that he had to close down the shop? And what did he mean by '_it's okay'_?

Half curious, half uneasy, I followed him into the garage.

The sight that greeted me when I entered the garage was nothing at all like I had imagined. Instead of some sort of strange occult gathering, there was someone rummaging around under the hood of a car. It took me only half a second to realize who it was.

"Winry likes to inspect the cars now and again," Roy explained. "She's still learning, but… you know. Can't hurt."

Winnie pulled herself out from underneath the hood of the car and rolled her eyes. I frowned. "Did you really have to close down the garage just for this?"

For some reason, I received a few strange looks for that one. "I don't know how things are in Germany, or wherever you're from," said Winnie, one eyebrow raised. "But things don't work that way here."

I opened my mouth, just about to say something, but Roy shuffled me forward. I noticed, for the first time, that we weren't the only people in the room.

"Ed, this is my wife, Riza," said Roy, motioning to a woman holding a little boy. She smiled at me, and there was a weird sort of exhaustion in her eyes. She looked a lot like the Riza Hawkeye on the other side of the Gate, except this one was noticeably thinner, almost stick-like, and her hair hung freely to her waist.

"I've heard a lot about you, Edward," she said, that same odd smile on her face. I smiled back at her.

"And this is our son, Tom," said Roy.

Even though _son_ was the most logical reason for the miniature version of Roy Mustang in Riza's arms, it still had not registered until Roy said it out loud. My jaw dropped, and half a second later I shut it again.

"Say hello, Tommy," murmured Riza. The little boy buried his head in his mother's shoulder. She glanced at me. "He's a little shy."

Much to my disbelief, I actually managed to smile.

Roy wheeled me away again before anyone said anything else. "Becca finally found your brother's book," he said cheerfully.

"Oh yeah?" I asked distractedly, still trying to digest everything.

"Yes. She can't put it down."

"My brother's a very talented writer," I said. "He's got a weekly column in the _New York Times_ now."

Roy did a double take. "Really?"

"Yeah. He's pretty excited."

He laughed. "He should be. Becca's been vying for a spot in the _Times _ever since we found her."

"Roy, hand me the wrench," came Winnie's voice. He did so.

"The _Times _is stuck in the last century," said Riza, shaking her head. "Becca'd have better luck with the _Tribune_."

"I think that's why she refuses to back down," said Roy. "Because she knows she'll never get it."

Riza sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Why won't she get it?" I asked.

They all looked at me.

"Where were you before you came to America, Ed?" asked Winnie.

"Germany."

"Tell me: how do they treat women in Germany?"

I was about to say, "Just fine," but then I remembered that… they don't. I was thinking of my own world. There was no prejudice towards women in that world; at least, none that I ever detected. But in this world…

"Well, it's different here," said Winnie, misinterpreting my pause. "We're not allowed to do _anything_, just because we can't lift as much weight as a man could."

Roy glanced toward the ceiling with a look that said _help us_ and Riza muttered, "Oh, God."

"This country is a lie; all of it, all of it is a lie! Supposedly, we're the land of freedom, but that is _not true_! I mean, sure, you're free – but only if you're a white middle or upper class male. Other than that, well, the government effectively says _screw you! _and you're left to find your own way in this world that is so _hell-bent _on exterminating every free-thinking woman! It is unreasonable and oppressive! It's not _fair!_"

With the last word, she threw the wrench at the ground. I barely dodged the rebound.

There was a second of silence, then Roy asked, "Are you done?"

She sighed, an exasperated look on her face, then got back to the car.

"Sorry," said Roy. "She does that sometimes."

"Winnie's got a hot temper," murmured Riza. "But I guess we must allow her that."

From the tone of her voice, I could tell there was some reason _why_, and they weren't going to tell me. Instead of asking, however, I shook it off.

"Anyway," said Roy. "You'll be paid for today as if you were working, Ed. You're welcome to stay, but…"

I could tell he would prefer it if I left. I nodded. "Thanks, but no thanks. I have to…" I realized I didn't have an excuse, "…go."

He smiled and nodded. "Okay. How about you come in next week, alright?"

"Sure. Right. Next week."

They bade me farewell and I left. On my way home, my mind drifted, and I saw again: the little boy who Riza was holding. He had the same dark hair and eyes of his father, and his skin was just as pale as Roy's. It was a funny thing: to imagine the Roy in my world with a son. A tiny, little son.

The Roy in my world…

He hadn't exactly seen like the perfect father type. I mean…I couldn't see him with a kid. Yet here it was, right in front of my eyes…._Tom_ Mustang.

But no. That wasn't the Roy in my world. This is Roy of _Mustang's Mechanics_, not Roy of the military. And since when had I called Roy by his first name? Well, not _this _Roy. I had only ever called this Roy Roy. But the other Roy – I mean, in my world – that Roy had never been Roy, only ever Mustang.

I shook my head. I was confusing myself.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I trudged through the snow. A light flurry of snowflakes settled on my head and shoulders. It was still the middle of the day, and the streets were as clear as was possible, but there was still only a few people out. A small crowd was darting in and out of a few stores – I glanced into the windows and realized what day it was.

December twenty-fourth. No wonder Roy's garage was closed. It was _Christmas Eve._

Strangely enough, I found myself sidling towards a small shop on the corner of the street. I looked through the windows for a second, counted the money I had, then slipped into the store.

I began to peruse the first shelf I saw, when someone said, "Can I help you, sir?"

Slightly startled, I turned around quickly. An old man, hunched over with age, was smiling gently at me. "Er – no, thank you, I'm just…I'm just looking."

He nodded, with that same happy look on his face, and turned and left me alone. I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding, then went back to the shelves.

It was a simple little shop; everything was handcrafted, most of it wooden. I was the only customer there.

I don't really know what attracted me to that specific shop, but it paid off. I found the perfect thing, without even knowing I was looking for it.

The man at the counter wrapped the small piece in dull paper and tied a ribbon around it. I paid him, and he smiled at me as I left.

When I got home, Al didn't look up. He was too deeply into a book, his eyes flying across the page, an intense look in his eye.

It wasn't until I said loudly, "What is _this?_" that he looked up.

He immediately looked sheepish. "Oh. It's…well it's a tree, Brother."

"It's not a tree," I said with disdain. "I mean…to call it a _bush _would be too kind."

He sighed. "That's not what matters. What counts is what's _under_ the tree."

I glanced down. Wrapped in brown paper was a large, rectangular object. "Oh, Al," I said softly. "Please tell me you didn't."

"I did," he said. "And by the look of it, so did you."

I glanced down at the package in my hand. "I guess I did," I said, laying it down to the bigger present. Then I looked at the small green thing above it. I sighed. "A _Christmas _tree?"

"Well, I know that we don't celebrate – that is, there's no – but it's just… Brother, I just thought it would be nice if we exchanged gifts on the day that pretty much everyone else does. Just to…to be normal, you know?"

"We're not _normal_," I said.

"Can't we pretend that we are? Just for _one day?_ Please?"

I rolled my eyes. "And you didn't even think to ask my opinion before you did this?"

"Oh, Ed – you _said _that I didn't have to ask you about everything!"

"Yeah – well – this isn't, like, going out to a luncheon with your buddies." I glanced at him. "What is with you?" I asked. "First it's _Bible _passages, then church, and now this?..."

"I didn't say that I believed any of this. I just don't see anything wrong with giving presents to one another on a specific day."

I shrugged. "Fine."

There were a few moments of silence. "So, what happened?" asked Al. "I thought you had work today."

"The garage is closed for the day," I replied. "Roy's giving Winnie a lesson on automobiles."

"Oh."

There was more silence. I looked at the Christmas tree. "Christmas isn't a _real _holiday anyway," I said. "I heard Americans just use it as an excuse to buy things."

Without looking up from his book, Al said, "I thought that was our excuse."

I glanced at him. "I can't believe you Al."

"Oh…get over it."

I raised my eyebrows. "Are you okay? You're acting sort of weird."

"I'm fine."

He obviously wasn't. But there was no use in pressing him if he wasn't going to tell me. I shrugged and began to walk away, but then…

"Hey…Ed?"

"Yeah, Al?" I said, looking back at him.

"I was thinking…" he began, avoiding my gaze. "And if there's a counterpart for everyone here… then wouldn't there be a counterpart for, you know… Mom and Dad?"

I looked at him for a second, then sighed and sat down opposite him. "Yeah, I guess there must have been, at one time," I said. "I think Dad's counterpart must have died a long time ago, but there probably is someone out there just like Mom. Why do you ask?"

He shook his head. "I was just thinking about this world versus our own. You know."

"Right. Of course."

He didn't say anything, only smiled a tiny bit. I wondered what he had been getting at.

Later, he tried to get me to put up stockings, causing me to look at him skeptically and ask, "You do know that there is no such thing as Santa Claus, right?" which in turn caused him to turn red in the face and throw a sock at me.

**--------------------****--------------------**

Oh, Alphonse. I love you so much.

Developing Winnie's character. There will be more of that. And Tom Mustang; I KNOW RIGHT? Hahaha.

Also, I feel that now is a good time mention some songs. "Far Away" by Nickelback is basically how Ed feels about Noa. "One Step Closer" by Linkin Park is very much Al, although mostly how he feels in later chapters. "Please Don't Die" by Robbie Williams is a lot like how Ed feels in general. Also, "Open Your Eyes" by Sum 41 is, in my opinion, _about _Ed and Al. I LOVE that song. I think of the boys whenever I hear it.

Funnily enough, when I wrote the next few chapters after this one, I put in a lot more narrative and a lot less dialogue, which is just what a reviewer suggested. I wrote them a while ago, but still. :D Thanks!

One last thing: I just wrote a short little chapter from Noa's point of view, who is still in Europe, thinking about Edward. If I were to post it, I would probably do so around chapter fifteen or sixteen, but the thing is, it might give away a very important detail that is important in the end of the story (if you get it, since it's only heavily hinted). I don't think it would feel right putting it at the very end, but would any of you mind if it gave something away? It's pretty well-written, very much Noa-like. Remember, it would be more than ten chapters from now. You can review at a later chapter and tell me if you've changed your mind, I'll post reminders after every chapter or so.

So what is your opinion? On the chapter I've just posted, and the one from Noa's point of view.


	6. Christmas

Chapter Six: Christmas

"_Joy to the world, the Lord is come! Let the earth receive her King; let every heart prepare-_"

"Al, turn that _off!_"

"Wake up!"

I groaned and covered my face with a pillow. "No."

"Fine then. I'll open my present without you, then."

I sighed, rolled my eyes, and got out of bed. Still in my nightshirt, I trudged out into the small living room. "Tea?" said Al, offering me a cup. I took it and glowered at him.

"What time is it?" I asked him.

"Almost noon."

"What? How is that possible?"

He shrugged. "Let's open presents!"

He sounded genuinely excited. I rolled my eyes again. "Fine." He picked up his present gently, being very careful with it. He handed me the large rectangle that was his gift to me.

"Open yours first!"

For the third time in as many minutes, I rolled my eyes. "Alright, alright."

I carefully ripped the paper off the object. At first, I didn't seem to realize what it was, then I looked at it again, and my breath caught somewhere deep in my throat.

It was a framed painting of four people: our mother was sitting in a chair, and our father was standing with one hand on the back of the chair. I was standing on the right side of the chair, our father's arm around my shoulders, and Al was seated on the ground on the other side of the chair, holding Mom's hand.

"Did you paint this?" I asked him. He nodded proudly. "It's…" I trailed off, searching for words. None came to mind. "It's _amazing_, Al."

"It's nothing."

"No, really…it's great."

Silence. Then I said, "Open yours."

He grinned and ripped the paper off my present to him.

He stopped and stared at the medium-size wooden object in his hands.

"Where did you find this?" he asked, his fingers running along the edges, inspecting it from every angle. His voice was a mixture of wonder and awe.

"It was a random shop of the corner near Mustang's garage," I replied. His mouth had fallen open into a little 'o'.

"Do you think it's…?"

"No. It's just…just a pretty shape."

He stared at the wooden transmutation circle in his hands. There were a few moments of silence. Then I said, "Thanks for the painting, Al."

Without even looking up, he replied, "Thank you…for this…"

I picked up the paper and threw it in the trash. Then I found a hook on the wall and carefully hung the painting on the wall. Al was still staring at the circle, turning it over again and again in his hands. I wondered why he was so fascinated by it.

Neither of us could perform alchemy in this world, but that didn't mean Al hadn't tried before. When we had to close the Gate on this side, he must have tried a million different things, but nothing worked. Eventually, neither alchemy nor science triumphed, and the Gate faded into nonexistence, surprising both Al and I.

Al drew hundreds more transmutation circles. It took him a year, but he finally accepted it was impossible and quit trying. He didn't seem to make a big deal about it after that.

"Do you think," said Al quietly. "…do you think we were the first people ever to cross the Gate intact?"

I looked at him. "I think Dad was the first."

"But…before that, maybe. Could there have been _anyone _else?"

He looked at me eagerly, clutching the wooden circle. "Al," I said. "It doesn't mean anything. It's just a shape that happens to look like a transmutation circle. It doesn't mean anything," I repeated. He didn't seem to buy it.

"Do you know who owns the shop?"

"Some old man. Does it matter?"

"Brother, what if-"

I sighed. "Look, Al, if that's what you want to believe, then go ahead, ask the owner and see if he knows anything. If he doesn't, then please just drop it."

He frowned. "Why? What's wrong with me wanting to know if there's someone else from our own world here?"

"I… there's nothing _wrong _with it. I…" I paused. "If you ever do find anyone," I continued, my voice lower. "Then don't tell me. I don't want to know."

He looked at me oddly. "You…don't…want to know?"

I shook my head. "Forget about the past, Al. Please forget. We can't go back. I'm sick and tired of wishing I could, but we _can't_. We just can't."

He was still looking at me with that confused look in his eyes. I shook my head and turned away.

"But…I thought…"

"Al, _please!_ We'll never see them again! We have their counterparts, yeah, but it's not…_them._"

Neither of us moved. Then, he said, "What about what you're trying to do with Winnie? If you're so sure that she's not Winry, then why chase after her at all?"

"Have you ever heard the expression _do as I say, not as I do_?"

"Brother-"

"I'm an idiot. I accept that. But you're smart, Al, and you shouldn't go off on a wild goose chase for something that's never going to happen." I still wasn't looking at him.

"You're not an idiot."

I laughed, but it was an odd, strangled sound. "Why do you insist on arguing about the most ridiculous things?"

"It's not ridiculous!" There was a pause. Then, "If anyone's being ridiculous, it's _you_…Ed, we _will _see them again."

I finally turned around to face him. "What are you talking about? We're stuck here, Al."

"No, I mean…after. After we die."

I stared at him.

"Oh no," I whispered. "They _converted _you, didn't they?"

"Of course they didn't," he said, but he looked uncomfortable. "But, don't you _want _to believe in something? In at least _some _kind of afterlife? Somewhere you go when you die?"

"This_ is_ where you go when you die," I said, with a tone that I hoped sounded final. "Now take down that Christmas tree. I don't want to see it anymore."

He sighed, frustrated, but got up and did what I said anyway. I watched him warily. Sure, I had suspected something like this, but… I never thought Al was one to fall so hard for something so obviously fake.

Maybe he needed reassurance. For something. Maybe I should have said something to him.

But I didn't. I stayed quiet, and watched him throw out the Christmas tree. Even though I was glad to be rid of it, there was something strangely sad about seeing the tiny, broken tree thrown into the garbage.

For the rest of the day, we didn't really say much. The occasional words, when necessary, were brief and to the point. I looked at the painting again. It was still breathtaking. Al obsessed over the wooden transmutation circle.

And then, oddly enough, there was a knock on the door.

I answered the door; my eyes slid over the first person without seeing them, then rested on the face of the woman farthest away from the door. She distinctly looked like she didn't want to be here, and she was tapping her foot impatiently. For a second, I could say nothing; I was too flabbergasted at Winry's sudden appearance in my doorway.

But then I remembered that this was _Winnie_, not Winry, and I shook my head, but before I could say anything, the girl closest to me, Rebecca, said, "Edward! Merry Christmas! Where's your brother? Is he in?"

"Uh – yeah – he's – well, come on in," I said uncertainly. Rebecca beamed at me. "Al!" I called. "Someone's here to see you."

As I showed Rebecca and Winnie to the sofa and offered them a drink, Al popped out of his bedroom. At first, he looked confused, then his eyes darted towards Rebecca's hands and he grinned.

"Alphonse! I'm Rebecca, Rebecca Miethke, we've met before, and Winnie here works with your brother," said Rebecca, leaping to her feet. "I just finished your book! I can't believe it – _it was so good!_"

Al smiled, and there was something in his face that I had never seen before. "Thank you. What part did you like best?" he asked her. She sighed, clutching the book to her chest.

"Oh, I couldn't say – it was all so good! But I do like the part when…"

She and Al began to discuss the finer points of his book. I looked nonchalantly at Winnie, who was sitting straight up, staring at something beyond Rebecca's shoulder.

"Hey," I said softly. Winnie turned abruptly towards me, and Al and Rebecca didn't even pause in their discussion. "Did you read it too?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "Parts of it." She hesitated, then added, "It was obvious who was who. Two brothers? Come on. You were William, and he was John."

I blanked for a second, then remembered the fake names that Al had changed our own to. I laughed. William was the name Al had picked for himself, and he had called me John. He had told me he picked them because of how common of names they were.

"Almost," I said. "_I _was John. He's William."

She cocked her head a little to the side, looking as if she was thinking hard. "But that doesn't make sense," she murmured. "John…" I looked at her, amused, to see if she would finish the sentence, but she just shook her head. "I guess I could see that."

I asked, "What parts did you read?"

"The beginning," she said. "And the end."

"Oh…what did you like about it?"

She looked at me. "I can tell you what I _didn't _like," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"And what was that?"

"The girl," she said scornfully, sitting up straight again.

"Which girl?" I asked, running through a mental glossary of the girls mentioned in Al's novel.

"_Claire_," said Winnie, folding her arms. "She was an idiot."

Claire: Al's name for Winry. I laughed again.

"Really? You remind me of her."

Winnie shot me a glare so full of hate that I felt like a part of me just died inside. "And what is _that _supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just that…I don't know. You look like her."

She let out a little huff of indignation. "And that's all men care about, isn't it…" she muttered. "_Looks._"

"No – I didn't mean it like that-"

Rebecca laughed loudly. I glanced once at her, then back at Winnie. While Rebecca looked ecstatic, Winnie seemed sour and intent on making me look bad.

"Are you always this sober?" I teased her. "Lighten up."

At the word _sober_, her eyes flashed with something resembling cold fury. "I'm leaving, Becca," she said, standing up.

"Wait-" I said, but she was lighting a cigarette and walking out the door by then. Al shot me an apologetic look and got on with his discussion. I sighed and slumped back down on the couch.

"Don't pay attention to her," said Rebecca, surprising me by sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. "She just doesn't like Christmastime much."

"Why not?" asked Al. I had a feeling he would ask Rebecca about anything, just to keep her talking to him.

She picked at a frayed edge on the couch. "I don't think she'd like me telling you. But… if you get a chance, ask her about Michael someday."

I nodded, far away, as Al and Rebecca began discussing politics, and NYU, and the _New York Times_, and anything and everything else.

Al was just saying, "Yes, I read a little about it before I came here, is it really as bad as it sounds?"

Rebecca nodded her head. "It's _horrible._ People are getting shot left and right, and nobody knows why. So we all just assume they were bootleggers and they mixed with the wrong crowd, but what about the people who are innocent, caught in the crossfire? It's just _awful._"  
"Sounds like it," said Al. "What about…"

They continued talking. I sighed and got up. After retrieving my coat, I slipped outside. I don't think either of them noticed.

Now this is going to sound very protective older brother-like, but I thought it was good for Al having someone his own age to talk to, even if it was a girl with nothing to her name. It wasn't as if he had many friends – other than the Literature Committee, who were more like teachers in reality. He had told me that a couple of the students at the University had been nice to him, but they were all just too polite. Rebecca…well, she was perfect.

As I walked slowly down a deserted street, I wondered where Winnie had gone. Did she live within walking distance? Roy always drove a car to and from work, with Winnie… I shook my head. She could probably walk back from here. There was no point in hoping to catch up to her. I wandered around for a little.

Then, light coming out from a doorway caught my eye. The windows were draped with black, so I couldn't see in much, but from the flashes through the door, it looked like some kind of party, or maybe a club.

Almost unconsciously, I found myself meandering forward. Something about this place had sparked my interest, even though I didn't even know what it was yet.

I didn't realize I was so close until a man at the door said, in a think New Yorker accent, "Welcome to the Barkoff Speakeasy, seat yourself."

I raised an eyebrow at this, mentally went through the amount of money I had in my wallet, then shrugged and walked right in.

There was a black piano player on a stage, and several drunken men and women were sitting at tables or stumbling through dance steps.

In that same obnoxious New York accent, the bartender said suspiciously, "How old are you, kid?"

"Twenty-one," I replied.

He looked me up and down. Then he grinned and said, "Okay, kid, twenty-one it is! Whaddaya what?" He gestured to the rack of alcohol behind him.

"What's the cheapest?" I asked.

He laughed. "The cheapest will turn you blind, son."  
"Oh…then can I have the cheapest that won't turn me blind or kill me?"

He chuckled again. "Any drink'll kill you, eventually," he said, but he grabbed a glass from below the counter and poured some liquid into it. I paid and sat at the bar, taking sips from the glass now and then, trying hard not to think of anything.

A woman, only a few years older than me, suddenly appeared at my shoulder. She was dressed in a thin dress and a feather boa was twined around her neck. She smelled like sweat and alcohol.

"Hey honey," she said, pressing herself against me. "You look like you could do with some cheering up. Got any cash? I could give you a good time."

I scooted away from her. "No thank you."

She raised an eyebrow. Her face was very close to mine. "You sure, kid?"

"Positive."

She shrugged. "Your money."

I let out an inward sigh of relief as she left. But even as I did this, I almost wanted to go after her, and offer her whatever she wanted, if she would just…

I shook my head, disgusted with myself. To even _think _that way was to abandon all principles, all prior morals I might have retained. I downed my drink.

Someone on the stage said, in a low and seductive whisper, "And now for some slow Christmas tunes, courtesy of our own New York beauty, Silver Rhoades."

I rolled my eyes at the obviously fake name.

Then, a voice that sounded somewhat familiar began to sing a slow rendition of _Silent Night._ I turned around to face the stage.

Riza Hawkeye – I mean, Riza Mustang – was singing on the stage, her eyes slowly sweeping across the room. I don't think she saw me.

Leaning back and watching her sway gently on the stage, her smoky eyes closing and opening every ten seconds or so, I smiled. She must be the absolute opposite of the Riza Hawkeye in my world. How funny.

The song ended. She began to whisper her thanks, but a man rushed her offstage before she could finish. As she disappeared into the wings, I saw her shoot a dirty glance at the man. I smiled.

A band took the stage and started to play a slow, jazzy song. For a few more minutes, I lingered at the bar, then I shook my head and got up. Maybe Becca left. Maybe…

But, before I could even take a step, someone put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. I turned to see who it was.

Shaking from head to toe, Winnie stood behind me, something like fear in her eyes. "Help," was all she could manage.

"What?" I asked, bewildered. "What is it?"

She took my hand and, faster than I thought humanly possible, she had pulled me backstage, and in the dim light I could make out two figures, both glaring at us.

"Winry," said one of the figures – Riza. Her voice was heavy and trembling. "I told you to leave."

"What is this?" I asked, loudly. "What's going on here?"

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see the two figures more clearly. A man was standing over Riza, a glint of malice in his eye. One of his hands was raised, like he had just hit something. And sure enough, Riza's bottom lip was bleeding slightly, and a bruise was already forming on her cheek. I could feel cold fury rising in the pit of my stomach.

The man put his hand down. Calmly, he asked, "Who are you?"

Winnie's grip tightened on my arm. "He's a friend."

"Shut up, girl," said the man, without looking at her. "I'll ask again. Who are you?"

"I'm a friend," I replied. "Just like she said."

"You're a customer," sneered the man. "You don't have permission to be backstage."

"Oh, I'm just checking to make sure there's nothing fishy going on back here."

The man's eyes narrowed. Then, his arm shot out, aiming for my jaw. Instinctively, my hand reached up and my fingers closed around his wrist. He snarled.

"What do you think you're doing!" he screeched. Almost of its own accord, my arm swung out and my hand collided with his chin. He shrieked and stumbled back a few paces. I advanced until I was standing protectively in front of the two women.

"Get up," I murmured to Riza. She scrambled to her feet. "Now get out of here." She nodded, grabbed Winnie, and slipped away.

"Damn kid!" screamed the man. "You don't have the right! You have no right to dismiss my employees!"

A few men were now watching the argument. "You have no right to beat on a harmless woman," I countered.

He tried to hit me a few more times. I restrained myself as best I could, but by the end of the fight he had a bloody nose and two black eyes. "Get out of my bar!" he roared. "Get out and I never want to see you in here again! Get out, get out, _get out!_"

While everyone stared at me, I glared at the man one more time, then opened the door and left the building. Outside, there was absolute silence.

I strode a few paces out, then glanced around. Sure enough, there they were, two women huddled about fifteen meters away from the entrance, speaking in voices too low for me to hear.

I noticed Riza was only wearing a thin dress. She was shivering. As I approached them, I handed her my coat. She took it without a word.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," she said, finally. "I could have taken care of him myself."

"I don't doubt that you could have," I replied coolly. "I just thought you might appreciate a little help."

She was silent for a second. Then, she lit a cigarette and said, "It's not like it's something I haven't been through before."

"You should quit," I said.

"I did," she replied. "That's why he hit me."

More silence. Then, I said, "If you need to call someone, my apartment is only two streets-"

"No, thank you," said Riza. "We have a car." She gestured toward the street, where a dark automobile was sitting.

I nodded. "Well. I'll see you at work sometime, okay, Winnie?"

She nodded, still pale in the face. "I'll see you, Edward," she murmured, then Riza began to drag her away.

Just before they stepped off the curb, I saw Winnie glance back, a silent _thank you_ on her lips.

**--------------------****--------------------**

Originally there was more of a backstory on why Riza quit, but I decided to cut it out, because of circumstances in later chapters. Only about ten more chapters until this is caught up to where I actually am in writing it :D

Thank you so much once again for all your constructive criticism! It's seriously helpful. More?

Also: DON'T YOU JUST LOVE AL???


	7. Sickness

Chapter Seven: Sickness

The next day, back at the apartment, I got a call from Mustang saying the garage would be closed until Tuesday of next week.

As I hung up the phone, I noticed Al looking at me. "What?" I asked.

"Is that a bruise?" he asked me, pointing to my chin. I raised my hand and pressed softly. Grimacing, I nodded. He frowned. "What happened? Did Winnie punch you?"

"No," I said, smiling. "I just got into a little argument last night."

"With who?"

"I think he was the owner of the speakeasy two streets over," I said nonchalantly. "He sure acted like he owned the place."

"Speakeasy?" asked Al. "Why did you go to a speakeasy?"

"To relax," I replied. "You and Becca were talking here, and I didn't want to interrupt, so…"

I trailed off at the look he was giving me.

"Ed…" he whined.

"What? What do you want from me, Al?" I asked.

"If you get arrested, then it could-"

"_Arrested?_ What are you talking about? I'm not about to go get myself arrested!"

"Alcohol is _illegal_," he said, stressing the last word. "Don't get mixed up with the wrong people."

"It was _one time_-"

"Please, just do this for me," he said, his eyes huge. I rolled my eyes. "Come on! My reputation is unsteady as is-"

"Your reputation? Is that all you care about? What about-"

"Don't make this about you, Brother," he said, sighing.

"Why not?" I grumbled.

"Because it's _not_," he said matter-of-factly. "I have a life here. This is my _chance._ Please, please, please, _please_ don't mess it up for me."

I thought about this. Then, I shrugged. "You're right," I said. "I guess I should forget those plans to rob that bank, then."

He looked uncertain. I laughed and said, "I was kidding, Al."

He smiled, then. A big smile of gratitude and relief. I shook my head, but I couldn't help a grin coming to my own face. I reached out and ruffled his hair. "You're way too easy to fool, little brother."

"You're the only one mean enough to try, big brother," he replied with a grin.

There was silence for a second, then I asked, "Don't you have a class to go to or something?"

He nodded. "_Great Works of European Literature_," he said. "It's a fascinating class. I could probably slip you in if you felt like coming one time."

My smile faltered a little. "No thanks, Al," I said. "Literature isn't exactly my thing." His face fell. "But if you have a science class you can get me into…" I added, hating to see that disappointed look on his face.

He immediately looked happier. "I'll see if I can find one," he said cheerfully. Then, he glanced at the clock. "Well I have to go. Don't go back to that speakeasy while I'm gone, okay?"

"I don't think I'm ever going back to that particular one," I said. "That owner seemed pretty angry."

Al looked like he was about to say something, then he sighed and shook his head. "I'm not even going to ask."

I chuckled. "'Bye, Al."

"'Bye."

He left.

For a minute after the door closed, I just sort of stood there, in the apartment, thinking about nothing in particular, but also not really paying attention to anything.

I shook my head and brought myself back to reality. I realized what I had been staring at: Al's painting that he had given me yesterday. It was still amazing.

I lost myself in that painting for a moment. That family…. That was what we could have been. Should have been. But things didn't turn out that way. Why? Because our father left? But then again, would we have stayed with him if we – if she – knew the truth?... It would be so easy to blame everything on my father and be done with it. But then I would have to hate him, and, for everything he's done, I can't do that. It was in this world that he really became a father to me. He left too soon, in our world, and I had too little of time to really be his son. But when I crossed the Gate…

I only wish Al could have been there. For that short time when my father actually played the part of my dad.

To think, he had lived for hundreds of years before he met my mother. That's something I don't ever really think I'll be able to comprehend. And, also… to think he died right in front of me. He killed himself while I watched. Crushed in the jaws of his first son…

No. I can't start thinking of that bastard as his son now. Because when I start thinking of that _thing _as his son, I begin to realize that that means Envy was almost my brother. There could have been three Elric boys instead of two.

There could have been, but there wasn't. I shook my head. I was being stupid.

I had a whole day ahead of me, with nothing to do. But hey, this was New York we were talking about… there had to be something.

I turned on the radio. Only vague Christmas music and a few news bulletins. But I didn't feel like news at the moment – everything was just mindless blabber right then.

I put my coat on and left. The air was clear and cold – I took a deep breath. It smelled clean and pure. The snow on the ground was fresh, but the sky was a light blue. It must have fallen during the night. I thought maybe a good play, or one of those movies would be nice. But I had a measly amount of money in my pocket and I didn't want to waste any of it. But what is there to do in New York without any money?

A group of three scantily-clad ladies waved and giggled at me. There was a man and a woman sucking each other's faces on a bench down the street. I wondered if they all had always been there, or if they were just participating in some sort of Make-Edward-Elric-Awkward Day. Because that's definitely something that would happen to me.

And so, the days passed. One, then two, then three, and soon enough I was back working at Mustang's Mechanics, six days a week. I honestly can say that it was a dream job – to be surrounded by familiar faces, but not having to make uncomfortable conversation with any of them. I enjoyed working on the cars; for the most part, it was something I could focus in on and not have to think about anything else. And when I got home Al could tell me all about his lessons, and he could recommend books to me, even though that stack next to my bedside was getting pretty tall. Sometimes I only skimmed through a book, and other times I just skipped a chapter or two. Al would ask me how I liked the book afterward, and I'd only have to mention a specific part for him to go off on the symbolism of that scene, and what this was supposed to represent, and what the reader was supposed to infer from that…

Once in a while, Rebecca would show up. She usually brought Winry along, but every so often she'd come by herself to talk with Al. I think Al knew that I wasn't really interested in his books, because he began to lend some of them to Rebecca, and my book pile gradually shrank. He left his favorites for me to read, though, which was a pain, because his favorites were like a slow and painful torture to me. He loved symbolism in books. I thought it was ridiculous.

It snowed harder and got colder. We had to buy at least two more coats, but Al still looked like he was freezing all the time. He may have been wearing two long, fur-covered coats, a pair of thick gloves, and ear muffs he had bought for himself, but his face was still pale and his teeth still chattering. I told him to eat more. He was just skin and bones.

One day, near the end of a frigid January, he had an evening class that ended after I came back from the garage. Since I knew where he was, I kicked back, took my boots off, and relaxed. At first I attempted to read one of the books he had recommended, then I gave up and set it down, open, pages facing down. Al hated it when I handled books like that. "Books are like tiny women that you violate every time you lay them out like that!" His words, not mine.

Anyway, I was just about drifting off when the door opened. "Oh, hey Al," I said as he stumbled in. I looked at him once, then did a double take. "You look like death warmed up," I said, getting up. "I'll make some hot tea."

He just nodded, blinked tiredly, and staggered into the bedroom. After a second, I heard a muffled _thump_.

Frowning, I paused in boiling the tea and went over to check on him. "What was that?" I asked, but then I glanced through the door.

Lying, crumpled into a heap on the floor, in an eerie apparition of my past, was Al, his eyes rolled into his head and his books strewn about the floor.

He wasn't moving.

I was at his side immediately, shaking him, maybe a little more violently than I should have. "Al…Al, come on, wake up, come on Al, look at me, say something, come on, Al!"

His eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, and two words slipped out of his lips, quieter than the wind. He whispered, "I'm fine."

"No you're not," I muttered. "Obviously, you're not."

I lugged him onto his bed, which I am ashamed to admit was somewhat of a challenge. He was just so much _taller_ than I was.

I called a doctor after that. When he arrived, he looked over Al for a few minutes, then said, "Well, it looks like a simple case of the flu," he said, taking off his glasses. "With plenty of fluids and rest, you should be back on your feet in no time."

Al, who was almost completely conscious by then, murmured, "Thank you, Doctor."

I followed the man out of the room, where he turned to face me. "He's in pretty bad shape. He must have been sick for at least a week before this. But he should be fine. Just make sure he doesn't overexert himself for a while. Also, make sure he takes a tablespoon of this every evening for at least five days. If he gets worse, call me." He handed me a bottle of thick liquid.

"Right. Yes. Thanks, Doctor." He nodded and left. I stood there for a second, then slowly returned to Al's bedside. His eyes were half open, and I couldn't tell if he was trying to sleep or not.

I sat down on my bed. "You said you felt fine," I said quietly. "When I asked you, you told me not to worry. Why did you lie to me?"

"I didn't lie," he said, his voice hoarse. "I did feel fine. At least, I did for a while. And I just, I didn't want you to worry."

"Hmm. Pretending that you weren't sick at all until you finally faint from the pain. Doesn't this sound familiar."

He grimaced. "It's not like I was going to _die _or anything. Besides, I would have told you if it got that serious."

"Really? You would have? But wouldn't I have _worried_ then? And isn't that just the _opposite _of what you want?"

"Stop it, Brother," he said, and he yawned. It was enough to make me shut up. "The doctor said I was going to be alright, you heard him. So just calm down."

I said nothing, only walked out of the room. He had no idea… no idea how much he looked like her, sprawled out on the ground, eyes closed.

For what was not the first time, I cursed the part of Al that made him so much like our mother. If he was so much like Mom, then that made me like Dad. Not that there was anything wrong with that – I know my father was a good man – but Mom was so much…better.

Except for, you know, the fact that she hid the fact that she was _dying_. Guess that could be seen as a flaw.

Anyway. Despite my protests, Al convinced me to go into work the next day. Roy glanced up, then said, "You're late."

"My brother's sick," I replied. He nodded.

"So's Becca."

"Oh. He probably gave it to her. Sorry."

"Don't be. She gets sick a lot."

I nodded and got to work. At our lunch break, Roy said to me, "You feeling alright, Ed? You're real quiet."

"I'm fine," I said. "I just get fidgety when Al's sick."

He nodded and took a bite out of his sandwich. When he was finished chewing, he said, "I know what you mean. All of us used to feel that way about Becca. But it faded with the years. Now we're all sort of okay with it."

"Speak for yourself," said Winnie. We both turned to look at her. I hadn't even realized she had been standing there. "You're the only one in the house who stays calm when Becca isn't healthy."

"Becca's never healthy."

"My point exactly."

Roy sighed. "Maybe I should explain something to you," he said to me. "After all, Becca's been spending a great deal of time at your place lately."

"Oh – well – Al and her just sort of hit it off, you know?"

He smiled at me, but the smile was heavy and laden with something I couldn't place. "Tell your brother I appreciate what he's done for her. She definitely deserves some happiness." He stared at something beyond my shoulder. "But I'm warning you. Don't let him get too attached to her."

"What? Why?"  
"She's sick." Winnie said this. I looked at her.

"Sick? What? What are you talking about?"

"The doctors say she has fifteen years left. Twenty if she's lucky. Ten if she's not."

"She's far too flighty because of this," said Roy. "She thinks she needs to live life recklessly to fulfill whatever reason she has for being alive."

I noticed his fists were clenched and he was grinding his teeth. Winnie continued. "What Roy is trying to say is that if your brother lets himself fall for Becca, she'll break his heart. She's done it before."

I looked at her for a minute. "No…" I said. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm very serious," she said, a glimmer of something dark flashing in her eyes. "She did the same thing to Mi-"

"Enough, Winry," said Roy, his voice firm. She glared at him. "I mean, Winnie. I'm not paying you to gossip."

She shook her head. "Lunch break's over," she murmured, turning and disappearing back into the office.

I could only assume that she almost said _Michael._ His was a name I had heard several times, but I still didn't know who he was. "Roy," I said. "Who is Michael?"

Roy froze. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Rebecca said something about him once. And Winnie has, too. I just thought that-"

"Get back to work," he said, cutting me off. He threw a wrench my way and I almost didn't catch it. Luckily, I had better reflexes than he gave me credit for.

I sighed inwardly. Could they be making me any more curious? Now that he had flat-out refused to answer my question, I was intent on learning more about this Michael character. He definitely had something to do with Winnie, and since I'd never seen him… maybe he moved away. Or maybe he died.

I almost gasped. Why hadn't I seen it before? Of course I couldn't charm Winnie into liking me…

Michael must have been the name of her boyfriend. Or…or her husband. And he must have died. Recently, even! Dammit… why hadn't I seen this before? It was _obvious _now. The look on her face when she was thinking of him. What had Becca said about her? _She doesn't like Christmastime_. Maybe… maybe Michael had died last year, around Christmas! Yes, of course! It made so much sense.

When I got home, Al was sleeping. I thought that was good. The doctor had prescribed lots of rest.

I couldn't stop thinking about Winnie and Michael. With every breath of mine, every heartbeat, their names were drilled into my head. _Winnie… Michael… Winnie… Michael… Winnie… Winry…_

I shook my head. _Don't go there,_ I advised myself.

I must have dozed off on the couch, because the next thing I remember is opening my eyes and finding Al, yawning, taking a glass from the cabinet.

"Al!" I exclaimed, jumping up. "You should be in bed!"

"Relax," he said. "I'm just getting myself a glass of water."

"I could have done that for you!"

"You were asleep." He filled the glass with water and took a sip.

"So were you," I said. He smiled.

"I can take care of myself now, thank you very much," he said, taking another sip and heading back towards the bedroom. I grimaced after him.

Then, the telephone rang. I picked it up. "Hello?"

"Ed? It's Roy."

I glanced at the clock. "It's midnight."

"I know. Oh – did I wake you?"

"No, actually. So what is it?"

There was a pause on the other line, then Roy's voice said, "I've been asked to take a private job in Massachusetts. You up for it?"

"What kind of job?"

"Government rockets."

"I'm in."

When he spoke again, I could hear his smile. "Great. We're leaving on Friday." There was a _click_ and the other line went dead.

"Who was that?" called Al, from his bed.

"Roy," I said, going in and sitting on my bed. "I'm going to work on some rockets with him in three days. Is that okay?"

Al laughed, and it was a weird, feverish laugh. "Ha ha…rockets…hah… sure. Fine by me."

"Good. Now go back to sleep."

"Yessir."

Thirty seconds later, he was snoring.

I smiled, rolled over in bed, and thirty seconds later, so was I.

**--------------------****--------------------**

Pay attention to this chapter. It comes up later. Thanks for reading. Review, please.


	8. Danger

Chapter Eight: Danger

By Thursday evening, Al seemed fine. He could take care of himself, at least for a few days while I was gone. Winnie and Becca had promised to check on him now and then, and when I told him that, he just rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Roy had told me we would be there for no longer than a week, so I packed lightly but thoroughly. Al was sitting on his bed, staring at a page in one of his books while I loaded a single suitcase, when he said, "So where exactly are you going?"

"I don't know," I replied, looking up at him. "Somewhere in rural Massachusetts. Roy said he couldn't disclose the exact location, because it's some sort of government secret."

Al nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds scary."

"Scary?"

"Well, what if it's one of those _you know too much, now you must die_ things? I wouldn't put it past this American government."

I just looked at him. "You must still be delirious. Go to sleep."

Al sighed. "Just don't get killed while you're there."

"Don't worry. I have Roy there to back me up if I need it."

"Oh, of course, since he's such a good bodyguard."

"I'm serious, Al. Sleep."

"I've been sleeping for two days straight! I'm not tired!"

He sounded just like the little boy I knew he really was. In my mind, I saw a vivid picture of him as a seven-year-old, a goofy grin on his face. This was just so absurd, I had to laugh.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked. "There's nothing funny about it."

I shook my head. "You're such a kid."

"Look who's talking."

"And what is _that _supposed to mean?"

"You're the _size _of a kid."

I was suddenly on my feet. "Look Al don't be a _jerk_ just because you're _taller _now don't be like that come on now _it's not funny_ why are you laughing _this is not a joke _I swear _I am going to strangle you one day_…"

Al was still laughing. Then, suddenly, his laughter turned into a violent cough, and he was hacking and gasping into his hand. "Al…"

He waved the other hand nonchalantly. "I'm fine," he gasped, his coughing dying down. He glanced at the hand he had been holding up to his mouth. I followed his gaze.

My eyes widened, but he covered it with his other arm almost immediately. He was smiling a huge, fake smile. "Al."

"Yes, Brother?"

"…you'd tell me if you were _really _sick, wouldn't you? You'd say something?"

"Of course," he said, and he sounded sincere. I looked at him, concerned, for a second, then I shook my head and got back to my things.

"I trust you," I said quietly.

Maybe I was seeing things, or maybe his crack on my height had reminded me of the Alfons from this world, but I could have sworn that there had been a splash of blood on his hand.

The next day, in early morning, there was a knock on the door. I took my things and loaded them into Roy Mustang's automobile. Then I said to Al, "Take care of yourself while I'm gone. Maybe you should just take off your classes today. And tomorrow."

He smiled. "I'm a big boy now, Ed. I think I'll survive."

"I hope so. 'Bye, Al."

"See you in a week."

"Or less."

He grinned. I rolled my eyes just as Mustang called, "Ready, Ed? We need to get going if we want to be there in time."

"Yeah," I said. "I'm ready." I waved to Al as I got into the car. Then, Roy turned the key in the ignition and the car sputtered to life. As I caught my last glance of Al's face, there was something strange there – relief, maybe, or perhaps wariness. I thought about that flash of crimson red on his hand.

"Sign those," said Roy, handing a stack of papers to me.

"Okay," I said, frowning and flipping through the papers. "What are these?"

"All they say is that the government will sue you for everything you're worth if you talk about this trip to anyone," he said. "Don't worry, they don't actually mean it. But they want the paperwork, just in case."

"Just in case what?"

The car turned around a corner.

"In case you decide to feed the enemy information."

"Enemy? What enemy?"

He kept his gaze locked on the road. "The enemy is anyone from any country other than the United States. And…there are others."

"Others? What do you mean?"

He looked slightly disoriented. "There are organizations."

"What kind of organizations?" He looked thoughtful for a minute. I groaned. "There's a lot I don't know, isn't there?"

"I was going to brief you on the way," he responded. "So I guess that would be now." He took a deep breath. "This goes deeper than you know. Hell, it goes deeper than _I _know. Anyway. These rockets are being developed for the army. For a war."

I froze. "War? With who?"

"With everyone." He glanced at me. "They say it's all for defense, but I'm not sure. These rockets… they're weapons, no doubt about it."

"Weapons?" I repeated dumbly. "But… I thought…"

"Sorry," he said, shooting an apologetic look my way. "I needed you to come, and I didn't think you would if you knew the truth."

I only stared blankly out the window.

"There are some people who disagree with what the government is doing. There are these….extremist peace groups," he continued. "Some groups are more fanatic than others. They're the people who try to sabotage the rockets and steal the blueprints." He paused, then said, "They also try to silence the people who work on these rockets."

I stared at him. "Does that mean…us?"

"You shouldn't worry. Everyone who works there has codenames. No one knows who we really are." Another silence. Then, he said, "And it's too late to back down now. You're going."

"Not to worry," I said nonchalantly. "I wouldn't want to go back anyway." He raised an eyebrow at me. I smiled and shrugged. "Let's just say I miss the thrill of danger. Things have been pretty square for a while. I've gotten a little bored with it."

"Danger?...I thought you said you weren't in the war."

"I wasn't. But there are other ways to get that kind of buzz."

Roy contemplated this for a second. "How did you lose the arm, again?"

I laughed. "It's complicated."

"Believe me, we've got time."

I glanced out the window. "Wait a minute… this isn't the way to Massachusetts!"

"Oh, yeah. Change of plans. We're going to Pennsylvania."

"Pennsylvania? What the hell?"

"Sorry Edward. I had to be careful about how much information I gave you."

There was silence. Then, I grumbled, "You always so paranoid?"

His grip tightened on the steering wheel and a pained look appeared on his face. "I have to be."

After that, the only sound for a few minutes was the automobile's wheels rolling over the roads. I stared out of the window. It had stopped snowing, but there was plenty of the white stuff on the ground.

Finally, Roy said, "You never answered my question. How _did _you lose that arm?"

"Not just my arm," I said. "My leg too."

"You're not serious."

"I'm dead serious."

"Damn, kid. What happened?"

I bit my lip and thought about it. What could I say? _'Oh yes, I tried to bring my mother back from the dead, that's how I lost my leg. Then I gave up my arm and bound my brother's soul to a suit of armor. Yes indeed.'_

Right.

I said, "An accident."

"What kind of accident?"

"The traumatic kind."

"Oh. Well, I was just curious. Don't have to answer if you don't want to."

I wanted to tell him something. I really did. But there was just nothing I could say. "I was in a…a mining accident." It was like the words came out of their own accord. The more I thought about it, though, the more sense it made.

"Really."

"Yeah. When I was just a kid. The mine collapsed. That's how my mother died."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It was a long time ago."

I don't think he quite believed me. But at least now he didn't wonder. "Now you get to ask me something," said Roy. "Fair trade, right?"

I looked at him. Fair trade? That sounded like… what the hell was this Mustang doing talking about equivalent exchange?

"Ed?" he asked, glancing at me. "You still with me?"

"Oh, yeah," I said. "Sorry." I thought for a second. "What's Winnie's story? I mean… it has something to do with Michael, doesn't it?"

His eyes flashed. "What do you know about Michael?"

"Well, I…I don't exactly _know _anything…but I have a theory, and if I'm right…"

He looked at me, frowning, for a second longer, then shook his head. "Might as well get it over with, then. I probably don't have to tell you that Michael was Winnie's younger brother."

My jaw dropped. "_Brother?_"

"Yes. What did _you _think?"

"I… nothing."

He smiled, but it was a painful smile, full of regret. "Winnie and Michael's father was killed in the war. I told their mother, when I came back. A week later, she was dead. Suicide. It wasn't pretty."

I realized I was holding my breath. "And you took them in?"

"Yes. At that time, we had three girls, two of which moved out within five years. Anyway. Michael and Winnie were as close as brother and sister could possibly be… They were never apart." Roy made a face. "Michael used to call Winnie by her real name, _Winry._ After he died, she told us to never call her that again."

"How did he die?"

For at least a minute, Roy was completely silent. A dead look had entered his eye. "He was shot," he said. "One day, a man walked right into the garage and shot him. Winnie wasn't there. She didn't get the news until it was too late."

"What? Why was he shot?"

"I don't want to scare you, Ed," said Roy. "But he was shot because…because of me." He let out a long breath. "I convinced him to come with me on a trip to work on government rockets. They needed two men, and we needed the money…."

I stared at him, my eyes wide. "You mean to say…"

"You're his replacement," he said flatly. I stared at him.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me this earlier?" I demanded.

"I thought you were looking forward to a little danger!"

"A _little _danger, yeah, but… I'm a _replacement _for a _dead man_. Wouldn't that make _you _uneasy?"

"I _am _uneasy, dammit!" he said loudly. Then, he shook his head and continued, quieter, "This work pays well. Even with half of what they're offering, it'll be a real lifesaver."

"Half?"

"We're splitting it fifty-fifty, Ed. You didn't expect me to take all of it, did you?"

"No, you take it all. I don't need it."

"Ed. You know I couldn't do that."

"Why not? My brother is paid well. We don't need it."

"But…"

"I insist."

"Fine. Thank you."

More silence. It wasn't exactly awkward, but there was definitely some sort of tension in the air.

The silence was broken when Roy asked softly, "You like Winnie, don't you?"

I was slightly taken aback by his question, but instead of making some lame excuse, I just sighed and admitted, "Yeah. I do."

Roy nodded. "I've seen the way you look at her. I hope she sees, too."

"You don't think I should give her more time?" I asked. "For her to get over her brother?"

He shook his head. "Mike died over six months ago. She needs to have a reason to move on. You could be that reason."

"But… she doesn't even like me."

"Yes she does," said Roy. "That girl is hard to figure out, but once you know her, she's pretty obvious." He shifted in his seat. "She's…afraid of forgetting her brother. She thinks when she lets go, it'll feel like she's losing him all over again."

"You can tell all this by just looking at her?"

There was a wry smile playing around his lips. "She talks to Riza, and Riza talks to me. Need I say more?"

"I get it, I get it." Then, I asked, "So is there anything else I should know about this top-secret mission? Or, let me guess… you're going to say, _if I told you, I would have to kill you._"

He chuckled. "No, there's nothing that shocking left. We'll probably be there a shorter time than you expected, though. We're only working on a single part of the rocket."

"What?"

"Separate mechanics from different parts of the country build a part of each rocket," he explained. "And then they're sent somewhere to be assembled."

"Why can't we just do that?"

"Because they don't want anyone knowing the whole plans. Because they're unreasonable. I don't know, Ed."

I nodded and looked out the window. It was slightly fogged up from my breathing. I wiped it clear. We passed the car ride mostly in silence, but now and then we'd have a short conversation, a question or two. He seemed content with just driving in peace. It allowed me to have some time to think.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Was this going to end up being a struggle for my life, or some harmless project? It couldn't be harmless; a man had _died _because of this cause.

Michael had died. Now that I knew the truth about him, I was even more shocked that Winnie had even _looked _at me. He was her little brother… he was her Al…

A horrible thought struck me. I was dragging Al into this too, wasn't I? I was dangerous for him to be around. But I couldn't leave him… but what if I lose him, like Winnie lost Michael?

No. Of course I wouldn't lose him. I would throw myself in the path of a bullet for that kid. Anyone who wanted him dead would have to go through me first. We'd lost each other too many times to go through that whole ordeal again.

I pushed those thoughts out of my mind. Think to the future, not of the past. And my future was definitely worth thinking about. I couldn't believe Roy had tricked me into doing this. If I had known the risks…

Well, would I have? I mean, rockets are great and all, but dying would kind of put a damper on my plans. Or would the thought of fighting for my life had thrilled me? Would I have said yes just to live on the edge again? Didn't I remember that terrifying feeling, when I really believed I was going to die? It's not like it was something that was easy to forget. I'd stared death in the face way too many times, and escaped it every time. Most of the times I had had help, though. From Al.

_I'm insane_, I thought. "Turn the car around," I said. "Turn the freakin' car around!"

He didn't look at me. "No."

"I can't do this!" I said, and I sounded hysterical now. "This is too dangerous! Turn _around!_"

"Calm down, Ed," he said. "I promise you won't get hurt."

"Don't talk to me!" I shouted. "Turn the car around before I do it for you!"

He didn't move. I reached for the steering wheel. His arm shot out and he caught me around the wrist. "Please don't do this," he said tiredly. "Please. I can't afford to lose this job."

"To hell with you!" I snarled, and with a flick of my arm, I threw his hand off me. I grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and, ignoring his yells, I wrenched it sideways. We careened off the side of the road. With a _puff_ of snowflakes, we were stopped by a huge pile of snow.

For a second, neither of us said anything. Then I opened the car door and got out. I stood in the frigid air for a second, then I heard Roy get out of the car as well.

"What do you plan to do now?" he asked. "Walk back?"

I didn't turn around.

"Ed, come on. Don't do this."

"Don't do _what?_" I asked him, whirling around to face him. "You drag me into this huge government conspiracy, put my _life _on the line, and you just expect me to sit back and let it happen?"

"It's not a conspiracy-"

"Oh yeah? Then what is it? What _is_ this dangerous mission you've decided to throw at me? What is it this time, Mustang?"

He looked at me, with an expression of concern and anxiety and something else I couldn't place.

And I realized something. I had been judging this man based on what I knew of him in my world. I had been thinking of him as that damn Colonel Flame Alchemist. But these were two different men, in completely different circumstances. I couldn't imagine one as the other, or vice versa, because they _weren't._ The only similarity was their outward appearance.

I turned around to face the empty road again.

"I don't know what exactly has happened to you, kid," said Roy carefully. "And I guess I can't help that. And you can call me selfish, but I need you to do this for me. After today, if you want, you can get the hell away from me and forget this ever happened. But I need this. You don't… you can't even understand how much I need this. You're just a kid."

I bit the inside of my lip.

"You're right," I finally said. "I'm…sorry. I shouldn't have overreacted like that."

"No, you had every right," said Roy. "I should have told you what you were getting into."

A short silence. Then I asked, "How's the car?"

He turned the key in the ignition and the engine kicked. "It'll be fine," he said. "Just need to get it out of the snow."

He glanced at me, and I sighed and nodded, then went to help him push it out of the snow.

It was silent. So silent, a pressing, accusing silence, and with a single glance at his face I could tell that I wasn't the only one who could feel it. My head started to hurt. A pulsing, throbbing pain in the back of my neck… we got in the car. It stalled a few times, then it was off again… I looked out the window at the flat white expanse… Roy coughed once… there was something about that particular silence that made it sound very loud… I brushed a strand of my hair out of my face…

Roy cleared his throat.

"I… feel the need to, uh, justify myself, Ed," he said, not looking at me. I sighed.

"You don't have to."

"I know that. But I want to."

"Okay. Go ahead."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "My wife and I have helped nineteen young women find good homes and lives. At the moment, we have ten at the house, including Winnie and Becca. With Riza, Tom and I, that makes thirteen of us." He paused, pulled a face, then continued. "As you know, that little garage doesn't pay very well. Do you realize why that is?"

I glanced at him. "…Because it's small?"

He shook his head. "Because I have a reputation. People know my family, and know what I do, and that's strange to them."

"What? It's strange that you're keeping these girls off the streets?"

"I wish we lived wherever you came from, Ed," he said, as soon as the words had left my mouth. "That note of _surprise _in your voice…" He shook his head. "Was there no such thing as prejudice in Europe?"

I stuttered something vague. "Oh…I…it's not that…that is, I…"

He smiled, but there was a tired look in his eye. "Anyway. The garage doesn't bring in too huge of an income. My wife has been earning money working as a lounge singer in speakeasies, but that… she's taking a break from that for a while." Something else came into his voice. A tense, strained tone, but a loving one nonetheless. "I don't like to haul people in the way of danger, but I would do anything – _anything_ – for my family. Please. Understand this."

An image flashed before my eyes. A huge suit of armor, made out of cold metal. A seal of blood.

"I understand," I said. "I… I really do."

"So please, please, please, _please _don't be angry," he said, and I realized he was pleading with me_._ "And… don't leave. When we get back, don't leave. Because there'll be another time _far _too soon, when my family is going to need the money to get through another week. I can't promise that you won't get hurt, but I swear that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe."

A short silence. Then, smoothing out the cuff of my sleeve, I asked, "You really loved him, didn't you?"

It took him a second to reply. "He…was like a son to me."

I returned to looking out the window. The snow had stopped falling. The sun was coming out of the gray clouds. I thought I saw a tall, thin figure huddling next to a signpost on the side of the road.

I blinked, and it was gone.

**--------------------****--------------------**

Should Ed believe him? More importantly, do _you _believe him?

Pay attention to this scene. It's pretty darn important. Thanks for reading. Anybody have any constructive criticism?

Actually, there's a _lot _more explanation in the next chapter. Backstories: yay! Thanks again.


	9. Love Is Blind

Chapter Nine: Love Is Blind

It was a huge hangar. A gigantic, white hangar that I would not have noticed if Roy had not pointed it out. "There it is," he murmured, pulling off onto a small road. He stopped the car and got out. I followed suit. He dragged his bag out of the trunk and I took mine. Then he closed the trunk and headed towards the hangar. He went to a side door, moving as if he knew this routine pretty well. He handed two cards to a man with an official-looking coat on, and he glanced at them, then glanced at me, then unlocked the door and let us in.

When I entered, it was…mind-blowing. Completely indescribable. There were rocket parts being assembled and welded, and about ten people wearing glasses poring over blueprints and prototypes. There were at least one hundred men in the hangar, most of them working on the mechanics of the machine, but plenty of them were walking around and observing and taking notes. A short, rotund man in a suit scurried up to us.

"Number 72?" he asked.

"And 65," said Roy, nodding towards me. The man nodded and checked something off on a clipboard.

"Right this way, sirs," he said. We followed him down a plain hall, then into what looked like army barracks. There were at least thirty beds on the ground, but they were bunks, so one was on top of every one. The man pointed to a bunk in the corner, then left.

The rest is classified. I worked on rockets, yes, but I was told almost nothing else about what we were doing. Everyone was kept in the dark. There was minimal contact between the workers.

All in all, we spent four days and three nights there. As soon as our time was up, we were shoved out the door, and there the car was, in the exact same spot we had left it, except the engine was warm, as if someone had just driven it.

When we were on the road again, Roy glanced at me. "So?"

"So what?" I asked.

"What did you think?"

"It was interesting."

He smiled slightly, but was silent. In years to come I would still find it hard to talk about this first experience there. It all seemed far too confidential…but still. I couldn't help thinking about it, though…

Suddenly, I smiled. Something to worry about that was not related to my past. What a change…

And before I knew it, the car shuddered to a stop. I opened my eyes, then, as Roy shot a small grin my way, I realized I had been sleeping. My face flushed red and I got out of the car, into the stinging night air. There was an unfamiliar car parked on the curb. I took my things from the trunk. Roy said, "I'll see you tomorrow, kid."

I nodded vaguely, and he drove away. For a few moments, I stood there, outside the apartment, staring at the door, thinking about the past few days. It all seemed so unreal…

I reached for the doorknob, but before I could reach it, it turned and the door swung open. Rebecca came out, red-faced and giggling, dragging Al along by the hand.

"Oh, you're back!" said Al, pulling on Rebecca's hand to stop her. He was grinning stupidly, and his hair and clothes looked a lot more untidy than they should have. Then, surprising me more than anything I had seen in the past week, Rebecca threw her arms around Al's waist and pressed herself against him.

"Come on," she whined. "We'll be late if we don't go now!"

Al grinned as he held her close to him. He wasn't even blushing. "Alright, alright. I'm taking Becca to a movie, I'll be back in a few hours, 'bye!"  
He strolled away with Rebecca and got into the car that had been sitting outside the apartment. I stared after him for a second, then shook my head and went into the apartment. Before I go on, let me just say this: Al was, even then, a complete neatfreak. Everything had to be clean and orderly before he left the place – I know that my complete disregard for anything clean annoyed him. But the weird part was that when I walked into the apartment, it was ridiculously messy. Things were strewn about the floor, the small table was covered with notebooks and old mugs of coffee and tea. I stared at it for a long minute, trying to take it all in.

The worst part was when I went into the bedroom. Most of it was just as messy as the rest of the apartment, except for my bed and a small space around it. But beside Al's strangely unkempt bed, there was a pile of clothes – men's and women's. I could only assume that the women's clothes were Rebecca's and that she and Al…

"Oh, _no_," I said out loud. How could so much have happened while I was gone? And Al… no, he couldn't have. He wouldn't have. It's so unlike him…

But Winnie and Roy had warned me about Rebecca. And that brief hello with him outside… Rebecca had him eating out of her hands. How could he have let this happen?

I dropped my things on my bed and went back out to the main living space of the apartment. Slowly, thoughtfully, I began to clean up. Three hours later, after the sun had gone down and the moon was trying to poke out through the gray clouds, the door of the apartment opened and closed, and Al waltzed in, looking half-drunk, humming a tune.

He looked around the room. "You cleaned up!" he said cheerfully. "That's good."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "…Are you feeling alright, Al? Still a little sick?"

"Nope!" he said. "Not sick at all! In fact, I have _never felt better._" He collapsed onto the armchair, that airy grin never leaving his face. "I just took Becca to one of those new films, they're real good, you should go see one if you get the chance sometime."

"So… where is Rebecca?"

"I drove her home, of course! Oh, by the way, I bought a car."

"_What?_"

"Yeah! Becca knows this guy who sells used automobiles, so it wasn't even that expensive!"

I stared at him, hardly believe my ears.

He let out a happy sigh and sunk lower in his armchair. "It's the greatest thing," he said. "You should hear her laugh, Brother, it's like a chorus of angels …" He closed his eyes, a blissful expression on his face.

"Al… you and Rebecca…"

"She's so amazing!" he burst out. "She's _perfect_! I can't believe it!"  
"Yeah… neither can I," I said darkly. He shot a glance my way, one eyebrow raised.

"Why are you always so cynical?" he asked me, his grin widening. "What Becca and I have – it's pure, it's true, it's _right._ I love her."

I did a double-take. "_What?_ Come on, Al, be serious."

"I _am _serious! I'm completely serious…" He leaned forward and grinned conspiratorially. "You will never guess what we did last night."

I stared at him. "I don't think I want to know."

He laughed. "Okay so Becca knows this girl who-"

"Stop!... Really, Al, I don't want to know."

He sniggered at me behind his hand. Then he sighed loudly and stood up, making his way to the bedroom, a faraway look in his eyes.

"Tomorrow," he announced, his voice coming muffled from the other room. "I am going to take Becca downtown, and, at sunset, I'm planning-" he paused, and there was a sound as if he was rooting around in somewhere. He popped out of the room and threw something small at me. "-to ask her…" I inspected the small velvet box. "…to marry me."

When I flipped the box open, there was a sparkling silver ring tucked in there. I stared at it for a second, then Al snatched it out of my hands and flipped it shut.

There were so many thoughts running through my mind, but all I could say was, "How did you afford that?"

He grinned. "I've been saving up for something important. I didn't tell you because I thought you'd spend it on something useless."

"Something – _useless?_" I spluttered. "Like a _ring, _maybe?"

His look turned hostile instantly. "This is not _useless_," he sniffed. "Becca's going to love it."

"_Are you out of your mind?_"

"What, you don't think I mean it?"

I stared at him, an incredulous look on my face. "Of course you don't mean it! You've only know her a few months!"

He glared at me. "How could you say that? Haven't you ever heard of love at first sight?"

"But that's not _real_, Al-"

"Just because it's never _happened to you_ doesn't mean it's not _real!_"

"I – of course – but – _come on, Al_," I said, still stunned. "You cannot possibly be seriously considering this!"

"I've already made up my mind!" he said loudly. "And I would _appreciate _it if you could learn to _respect that._"

I still stared at him disbelievingly. He shot one last glare my way and then disappeared into his tiny office, which I had nearly forgotten was there – he once said that he didn't like working in there because it made him feel claustrophobic. He's more of an open air person.

I shook my head, wondering what the hell Rebecca must have done to make him so damn weird all of the sudden.

Around midnight, Al still hadn't come out of his office. I began to wonder if I had been a little harsh with him. I mean, sure, it was a rash decision, but he's really just a kid and he's sensitive and maybe I should have been a little nicer when I totally rejected the love of his life.

And… he can't _really _love her, right? There's no way. There's no way that he could have fallen in love with her and she could have convinced him to do all that crazy stuff while I was gone. Maybe she drugged him.

Or maybe he really loves her and I just am so narrow-minded that I refuse to believe it. See, personally I'm of the opinion that there's no way you can truly love anyone until you really get to know them… but maybe that's different with Al. Maybe I just need to let him do what he wants.

But Winnie and Roy told me _specifically _to keep Al away from Rebecca. So I can't just sit by and watch him get hurt.

But wait a second. How else is he going to learn?

I sighed and stood up. The part of me that is forever Al's older brother decided to go check on him.

I quietly opened the office door. "Al?" I asked.

The only reply I received was a loud snore. Al was draped in his office chair, the small velvet box clutched in his right hand. Papers that were half filled up littered his desk. The ink was still drying on most of them.

Shooting a guilty glance towards my brother, I stepped forward and examined the papers. The first one had a short paragraph on it. _'And then she spoke quietly in my ear. No limits, restrictions; what we have here is what we are forever. I shall stay as long as you hold me. Don't forget what you have learned; or else I have taught you nothing. She told me this on no more than a single breath. Her scent filled my nose and her skin was warm.'_ I frowned, read it a couple times. It didn't sound like the type of things Al would normally write. I picked up another page. _'The earth is no comparison to that light which I have seen tonight; in her eyes, I see the truth. Her eyes are brown and they are dark; yet they are so full of light that it pales me when I am with her. She smiles with honesty that almost makes me look away, ashamed, a shadow in her bright light. Her arms are wide open, and so is her mind. When she turns to see me, there is nothing in my soul that she does not scrutinize, yet she does not look away. She sees my heart and she knows my darkness; but she loves me, and I can feel it when she touches me. It is electrifying. It is love.'_

Well. As usual, the way he writes made me as proud of him as ever, but I couldn't help but be a little disturbed as to what he's writing about. He's like a lovesick teenager…

I shifted a few papers around, not wanting to read every little thing. But then I brushed away a paper filled with sketches of eyes, and when I saw what was revealed I could feel myself blush. It was an inked drawing of Rebecca, and it was distinctly Al's style, and it was beautiful, of course, but… the drawing was unmistakably of Rebecca, lying completely naked on what looked like Al's bed. I covered it back up hastily, my face burning, and feeling very silly for that sense of embarrassment that was slowly rising up in me. It was just a _drawing_, for Christ's sake. It's not as if I actually _looked _at her.

It was with that feeling of hazy awkwardness that I left his office and closed the door, leaving him to spend the rest of the night curled up in his uncomfortable office chair. I went into the bedroom and tried to settle down a little, but I couldn't even think of sleeping when I could still see the clothes crumpled around Al's bed, and it was made all the worse because of that drawing that I saw, because now I could picture Rebecca's body perfectly in my mind...

I shook my head and shuddered, trying to clear my head of the disturbing images that kept intruding upon my peace. It was kind of hard to sleep with Al's bed there, empty at the moment but still it was _so _obvious that there had been more than one body in it during the night before. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Then I glanced at his bed. Then I squeezed my eyes shut tight, as if I could close my eyes and be rid of all the images in my head. I sighed and got up, thinking that maybe I should sleep on the couch that night.

It was hard to sleep, but by concentrating on counting backwards from one thousand using only prime numbers, I drifted off at about three in the morning.

I woke up when I heard the sound of a door opening and closing. My eyes fluttered open and I looked around. Al was giving me an amused look that said _'what are you doing?'_ I slid to a position where I was sitting up, and stretched. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked, smirking.

_Not while I could see the place where you and Rebecca slept last night_, I wanted to say. But instead, I just sighed and said, "No. You were out pretty fast, though."

He shrugged and a little bit of a pink flush came into his cheeks. "I guess I just haven't been getting enough sleep."

I rolled my eyes at this.

"You sure you're not sick anymore?" I asked him. "You were pretty bad when I left."

He smiled. "I'm fine, I guess. The magic of modern medicine, you know? Oh, and Becca made this really good tea for me which she said she learned how to make when she lived in California, but I think maybe she meant when she met someone who lived in California, because as far as I can tell she's definitely never been to California and-"

"Alright, I get it," I said. He smiled. It was quiet for a second, then he sat down in the armchair. He was still holding that small velvet box.

"You were right," he said at last. "I don't think I'll ask Becca to marry me just yet."

I looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Finally coming to your senses, hmm?"

He shrugged. "I guess." He paused, then, staring lazily at the little box, he continued, "It's so strange. It's like I'm under some kind of spell with her. I…I love her, but I did some wild stuff while you were gone." He held the box up to eye level so he could examine it better. "Nothing too regrettable, I don't think, but…" He sighed, shook his head, and lowered the box. "If I ever say something really unlike myself, Brother, feel free to punch me."

I laughed. "Consider it done."

He smiled at me, then coughed. "Ouch…" he murmured, massaging his chest.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. I've just had this cough for a while. Other than that, though, I'm fine."

Suddenly, I remembered that flash of crimson on his hand I had seen before I had left Al. The face of Alfons Heidrich appeared in my mind and I looked at my brother. Some of my pain must have shown on my face, because Al frowned and asked, "What's wrong?"

I said nothing for a moment. It was an odd couple of seconds. Before Al crossed the Gate, I had taken comfort in seeing Alfons, and knowing how much he looked like my brother Al. But now that that Alfons was gone, it was as if I could see a shadow of _his _face in Al's. "Brother?" he said hesitantly.

I dropped my gaze. "I wish you could have known him."

"Known who?"

Their voices were so alike. I was sure that if I closed my eyes, I could picture Alfons. "The other Al," I said. "The Alfons in this world."

Something like uncertainty flickered across his face. "Yeah," he replied. "Me too."

"He never believed me," I said, and I realized a note of bitterness was creeping its way into my voice. "When I told him stories about us, I mean. He just laughed at me. He always dreamed of coming to America."

Al looked at me, a concerned expression on his face. "Do you miss him a lot?"

I thought about this for a moment, then shook my head. "Not really. I don't think about him much anymore. Besides, I have you now." I smiled sadly at him. He managed a weak smile in reply.

There was something about his smile that didn't quite seem right, though. He looked disturbed… he looked guilty. I rubbed my eye tiredly. "Oh yeah," I said. "Do you mind cleaning up a little in there?" I asked, nodding my head toward the bedroom.

He looked confused for a second, then turned red. "Oh," he said. "I, uh, thought I already…" He shot a shaky grin my way. "Sorry."

He disappeared into the other room, and I couldn't help smiling at him. After a few moments, he came back out. "Sorry," he said again, still red in the face.

"You should probably give those clothes back to Rebecca," I said, grinning at his embarrassment. "She might be missing them."

He mumbled something incomprehensible. "What was that?" I asked.

He shook his head, staring at his shoes. "Nothing."

Al paused for a few seconds, then said, "I have a class I should be getting to. And don't you have work?"

I glanced at the clock. "Oh, _no_!" I said, and jumped to my feet and into the bedroom, where I quickly got dressed and ready for the day. Al was still laughing as I walked out the door.

**--------------------****--------------------**

OH DID I SAY THIS CHAPTER HAD EXPLANATIONS?

Sorry. I meant next chapter. I totally forgot about this chapter. This was before I had developed Rebecca's character any more, so I wasn't sure how she was going to turn out. She becomes a _major_ character later, but the question is... is she good for Al? Or very, _very _bad?

Thank you so much for reading. Any thoughts you'd like to share?

(Oh and also, the whole rocket-conspiracy-stupidness also gets explained later, although admittedly not in the next chapter... but what _is _in the next chapter is a little something more about Winnie's family...)


	10. Truth and Lies

Chapter Ten: Truth and Lies

When I got to work, Roy was just setting up. He had a mug of coffee in one hand, and didn't smile when he saw me. Winnie was sitting at the desk in the office, as usual, sorting through papers or solving a crossword puzzle or doing something else equally non-productive. I remembered something Winnie had said to me my first day working here._ 'Michael's old uniform would probably fit you…he was about your size.'_ That was before I had any clue who Michael was. Now that I did know, I wondered how she had been able to even say his name without bursting into tears.

But she was obviously stronger than she looked… she might even have been stronger than the Winry from my own world. Since that little excursion with Roy, I now had a clear, defined barrier between the people I knew in my own world, and their counterparts here, in this strange, different place. And this was definitely not the Winry I knew.

It was a slow day. After lunch, Roy left for about an hour to go see a private client. I was left alone with Winnie.

I was working on a small car, not even thinking about my actions. My arms worked with a steady beat, and my hands moved as if of their own accord.

I extracted myself from the hood of the car and wiped my hands, when a voice from the corner said, "He really feels bad about dragging you into this, you know."

I looked up. Winnie was leaning against the garage wall, lighting a cigarette. "Oh," I said, looking over the car. She meandered closer to me.

"But if it's any consolation," she continued, her voice completely devoid of emotion. "No one has ever been killed because of this."

I looked at her. "I thought-"

"Roy tells himself that Michael was killed by those government idiots because he wants to believe the best of my brother," she said, running a hand along the car's edge. "I, on the other hand, have never been one to shy away from the truth." My eyes were fixed on her face. She glanced at me. "I know that Roy told you about my brother," she said. "He's no good at keeping secrets."

She paused, now staring at the car's shiny paint. "What's the truth, then?" I asked her. "How did he die?"

Winnie sighed. "Well, he got the basics right. Michael was standing right in there when a man walked in with a gun and killed him. I was behind the desk." Her voice shook slightly. "But it didn't have anything to do with that stupid government work that Roy does. I don't even believe it's the government that does that. I think it's a couple of crazy conspirators who have too much money." She shook her head. "Anyway… my brother was a good man. But even he had his flaws." She paused and took a deep breath. "He was never the same after our mother shot herself. He saw her do it. It…did something to him. He was pretty young, but he was troubled. He took up writing to deal with what he was going through. It didn't work, though." A harder note came into her voice.

"Becca thought she was doing him a favor. She thought she could distract him from his troubles if she flirted enough with him. But he took her by surprise, and did the one thing she wasn't expecting from him. He fell for her. She was a strange girl, she'd only been with us, what, two years? Maybe three. But she thought she knew all of us so well. And Michael definitely thought he knew her." She paused for a moment, her fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the car's side. "She introduced him to the world of wild parties and crazy sex and drinking. That was the worst part. The drinking. Our mom had had a problem with alcohol as well, but Michael totally disregarded that. Unfortunately, it turned out that the addiction ran in his blood. He couldn't stop. He got involved with some pretty shady characters…he spent more and more time away from home, and the drink was the onlything that could pull him away from Becca for too long. He became an errand boy for a bootlegging business… he got promoted again and again, but he tried to keep it all secret, because he didn't want us worrying about him…"

I couldn't help but admire how strong she sounded. It must have been hard, talking about her brother, but her voice was barely shaking at all now.

"Go on," I urged her quietly.

"The truth all came out when he was killed. He had so many journals hidden in his room, describing everything that had happened. Roy never read them, said we were all disrespecting Michael's memory by reading them, but I knew that secretly he blames himself for all of this, even though it's not his fault in the slightest, but Roy's the kind of person who always needs to have something be his fault. He takes responsibility for things that have nothing to do with him… for some inexplicable reason, he felt the need to be blamed for my brother's death, and since he refused to believe that Michael was involved with illegal stuff, the best he could come up with was that this stupid 'government' program he'd been taking Michael to had gone wrong somehow and some psycho decided to shoot Michael because of it… I've told him time and time again that that doesn't make sense, because he, Roy, I mean, was standing just outside when it happened, and Roy had been the one who signed up for the stupid program so wouldn't it make sense for the shooter to want to kill him too, but he refuses to listen… I could understand it if he felt guilty for our parent's deaths, because that war messed him up, but _Michael?_ Like I told Roy at my brother's funeral: Mike was a criminal, and he knew that he could be killed, in fact he was sure he _would _be killed sooner rather than later." She paused. "He was seventeen years old."

I looked into her heavy, sad eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Me too. I loved him more than anything in the world." As soon as she said these words, she smiled and shook her head. "And I'm only the second one to say that. At his funeral, Becca claimed she was devastated. Said Michael was the love of her life, the only man she ever could have loved. But she's such a liar. See, Ed, a few weeks before Michael was killed, he proposed to Becca. Asked her to run away with him. She said no, and broke his heart. The day that he died, Becca had been avoiding him so well that they hadn't spoken for days."

She stopped talking. Then she sighed and smiled at me. "Well, now you know the truth. There's no reason to be scared. No one's out to get you."

I closed the hood of the car. "That's a relief. I thought I was going to have to change my name and leave the country."

She looked uncertain for a moment, then she saw the grin on my face, and shook her head, her lips pulled back in a tight smile.

"Well. Then. I just thought I should clear that up…" She wouldn't meet my gaze. "I guess…you should get back to work…Roy'll be here…any…second…"

She turned and walked away, a little more abruptly than was necessary. As she ducked into the small office, I thought I saw a tinge of pink in her cheeks.

With a vacant smile, I turned back to the car. She was blushing… Winnie was blushing, after talking to _me_… Did this mean that she-

There was the familiar growl of an automobile engine as Roy rolled into the garage, grinning happily. He jumped out of the car and held out a small envelope to me.

"What's this?" I asked, taking it.

"I thought you deserved a little bonus," he said, that bright grin still on his face. He stuffed something in his pocket. I opened the envelope and glanced in, rifling through the bills quickly. My eyes widened.

"Four hundred dollars?" I asked incredulously, looking up at him. He just grinned. "Roy, I can't take this," I said, holding the envelope back out to him.

"Yes you can," he said, pushing it back toward me.

"But I don't need it," I said. "I really don't. And I thought I said earlier that I didn't want any part of the money from that rocket th-"

At his expression, I shut my mouth before I finished the sentence. "I mean, I don't want, I don't need any of this."

"So how are you going to support yourself?"

"My regular pay here is enough…" He raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's not great, but my brother makes a decent amount, so-"

"And are you planning to live with your brother forever?"

I looked at him. "What?"

"What are you going to do when your brother gets a life of his own? Still going to work here?" He winked at me. I was speechless. He misinterpreted my silence and said, "Come on, Ed, there's no way this place alone could support a man like yourself. When you get a place of your own, you're going to have to find some other job… _unless_ you accept this money."

My mouth hanging open, I tucked the money in my pocket. "You okay?" asked Roy. I finally shut my mouth and nodded.

"Uh – yeah – fine."

He looked at me once oddly, then shook his head and disappeared into the office where Winnie was.

The rest of the day, I couldn't concentrate. My mind kept straying back to his words. _What are you going to do when your brother gets a life of his own?_...

That was a good question, although I hated to admit it. Up to that point, I had never really thought of my brother Alphonse as a person who would, one day, grow up and get a life. Now that we were back in the same world together, I had only just considered him a constant, someone who would be there every day, writing, or sketching, or wanting to discuss something philosophical that I had no real interest in.

The weight of the bills in my pocket, however, made me think otherwise. What _would _I do?... I had always had some vague idea of going to some sort of esteemed university, but those plans had never really come through. Now, though, as things began to change, I figured it might be the right time to see if there were some classes I could find somewhere.

And, also, I decided that from then on, I wouldn't depend on Al to do anything but be my brother. Which meant no money from him, no major favors… no using his influence to get me into a lecture…

In addition to the bonus, Roy let me off early that night, kicking his feet up on the desk in the office and declaring the day successful. Winnie just smiled at him and continued working on some paperwork, while I began to walk home.

It was getting dark. The sun hadn't disappeared behind the horizon yet, but there was definitely something night-like about the air. It was one of those moments that seemed to have been squeezed in between twilight and darkness.

I walked slowly, leisurely, one hand clutching onto the bundle of bills in my pocket. It was cold, and I could see my breath when I exhaled, but the snow was starting to let up. On the sidewalk where I was walking, it had become smooth and icy, where hundreds of feet had packed it hard onto the ground.

My eyes slid without seeing over the shop windows. My feet moved of their own accord.

It took just one misstep – just one.

My foot hit a bump in the sidewalk and I lost my balance. Throwing out my hands in front of me, I landed on the hard ice. Rubbing my wrists, I groaned and sat up, shaking my head. I blinked several times, then glanced around me surreptitiously. Luckily, no one seemed to have seen me. I stood up.

Then, as my eyes passed over a small space between the walls of two shops, I did a double take. About a meter above me, there was a large web spanning the space between the brick walls. It was frosted with ice slightly and seemed to sparkle, even though there was almost no sun for it to reflect.

And, in the very center of the web, struggling helplessly, there was a small black spider.

The web was shaking. Upon closer scrutiny, I realized the poor spider was stuck. Caught in its own web. How ironic.

Of course, I only assumed this spider was caught in its own web. Maybe this spider had ventured into foreign territory, and had fallen prey to the web of some other, larger, stronger spider…

Either way, I wanted to help the little fellow. So I reached my left arm out to gently pluck the spider out of the web.

I pulled it free and it scuttled up my glove, and, before it could go down my sleeve, I put my right hand in front of it, barring its way.

"Ow!" I exclaimed, dropping the spider and clutching the top of my left wrist. There was a small red mark there, where the spider had bit me. A tiny drop of blood pooled there, and smeared onto my white glove when I brushed my right hand across it. "Dammit," I whispered, and my eyes roved the dirty gray ground, searching for the little beast, but it was nowhere to be seen.

I brought the top of my wrist up to my mouth and sucked on it once, then spat onto the ground. The spider could have been poisonous; some feeble part of me hoped that any venom the spider had injected into the bite I had sucked out safely. After all, that's what they tell you to do if you're ever bitten by a snake. But I've heard that's just an urban legend…

The bite mark stung slightly, but not enough for me to actually worry any about it. I shoved my hands back into my pockets and continued on my way.

Sitting outside the apartment building in which Al and I lived, there was car that Al had bought a few days ago. There was a sign in the window that said _for sale- $400- inquire at…_ and our apartment number after that. My hand closed on the envelope of bills in my pocket. I smiled and found our door, then went inside.

"Hey Al, I noticed you're selling the-"

But I broke off midsentence, when I saw Al in the kitchen. He looked like he had just put something into his mouth, and he took a long sip of something from a long-necked bottle. He put the bottle down, shook his head once, then glanced at me. There was something like exhaustion in his eyes.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Uh…" I looked at him. "Did you just swallow pills?"

He shrugged. "Just some medicine for my cough."

"Oh…where'd you get the medicine?"

His face turned a little red. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Now what were you saying?"

"No," I said slowly. "It does matter. Where did you get those pills?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, don't make a big deal out of this."

"I'm not," I replied. "Just answer my question, okay?"

He looked at me for a few moments, his face unreadable. Then he broke eye contact the same moment he broke the silence. "From a doctor, who else would I get it from?"

He tried to hide the motion, but I saw it as he gently slid the bottle on the counter behind his back. "What's that?" I asked.

"What's what?" he replied innocently.

"Behind your back."

For a second, I thought he was going to lie and say _nothing_, but, after a moment, he rolled his eyes again and picked up the bottle. I took it out of his hands.

"You were taking pills for your cough… with whiskey?"

With a sigh, he reached out and took it out of my hands. "Don't look at me like that," he mumbled, holding the bottle in his hands. "I just… thought I'd give it a try."

Winnie's voice sounded in my head. _That was the worst part. The drinking._

I took the bottle away from him again. "A onetime thing, okay?" I asked him, holding up the bottle. He didn't look at me, but nodded all the same. I put the bottle away. "Anyway," I continued. "I saw that you're selling the car."

"Oh yeah," he said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "We don't need it. Everything's within walking distance, you know?"

"I'll buy it," I said.

He put his hands down and looked at me, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. "What?"

I pulled the envelope full of money out of my pocket. "I'll buy the car from you. Four hundred dollars, right here."

He stared at the envelope, then at me, then back at the envelope. "But – you can't possibly – four hundred – that's –"

"Take it," I said. "And I'll take the car."

He looked at me like I was crazy. "No, no, I wouldn't take any money from you – if you want the car, it's yours, it's okay, you don't need to _buy _it from me!"

I thought longingly of everything I could buy for four hundred dollars, then shook my head. "Yes, I think I do," I said. "Come on, Al. Just take the money."

He still had that unbelieving expression on his face, but he reached out and took the envelope all the same. "How did you get this?" he asked hollowly.

"Roy gave it to me," I said cheerfully. "Because of that rocket thing I went to."

Al looked at the money. "I really can't accept this," he said finally. "You earned it, and you're my brother, you don't have to-"

"Don't argue," I said shortly. He looked at me once, his mouth still in a small 'o', then smiled and shook his head and said no more.

I sighed and sat down on the couch, rubbing the spider bite on my wrist. Al disappeared into our bedroom. There were a bunch of books lying out on the small table in front of me, along with a few sketches and one piece of paper full of crossed-out words. And, lying partially covered by an old, worn book, there was a photograph.

It was a small, pocket-sized framed photograph. I frowned and reached out to pick it up. "Al," I called. "Did you move this?"

He came out into the room I was in. "Move what?"

I held up the photograph. "This was on the windowsill next to my bed. Did you move it?"

Suddenly, he looked uncomfortable. He wouldn't look me in the eye. "Yeah." I raised an eyebrow.

"Okay."

I put the photograph down. He glanced up. "You're not…angry?"

I looked at him. "Why would I be angry?"

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but words didn't seem to come, because he just shut his mouth and stared guiltily at the floor. Al edged back into the bedroom again. My eyes strayed to the photograph again.

If I hadn't known better, I would have thought it was my own brother smiling dimly at the ceiling from the photo.

Then again, for a long time, Alfons Heidrich _was _my brother.

**-------------------****-------------------**

There! Winnie just cleared up whatever lies Ed had heard about Michael.

_Or did she?_

Review, please. As usual, constructive criticism is very welcome. Thank you so much for reading.

(And no, the spider bite was not random).


	11. Rebecca

Chapter Eleven: Rebecca

A few days later, as it was getting dark, there was a loud knock at the door. I glanced at Al, who met my gaze, then sighed and got up to get the door.

"Becca!" I heard him say, sounding surprised. "It's late, you really shouldn't be-"

"Let's take a walk," Rebecca replied, sounding distraught.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Please, Al."

She sounded so upset that I knew Al couldn't refuse. So he grabbed his coat, said, "I'll be back in an hour or two," to me, and left with Rebecca.

It didn't surprise me much. Sometimes Al would be gone before I even woke up, and after he was back from his classes and me from work, when I asked him where he had been, he just said, "With Becca."

I still hadn't decided whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that Al and Rebecca were together. Despite the warnings Roy and Winnie had given me about the girl, Rebecca really made Al happy, and that made me happy. Besides, Al was a lot more reserved with her than he had been that day I first saw them together. I didn't think I had to worry too much about him doing anything that far from ordinary… I trusted him.

It was less than an hour later when Al returned. As he closed the door behind him, I said, "Hey… everything okay?"

He looked thoughtful. "Yeah," he replied. "Becca's just a little stressed out."

"Is there a reason why?"

Without looking at me, he sat down in the armchair opposite where I was sitting. "I don't know," he said. "I mean, it could be nothing…"

I raised an eyebrow. "What could be nothing?"

He finally glanced my way. "I don't know," he sighed, leaning back on the chair. "It's nothing." I smiled and nodded, saying nothing.

Early the next morning, so early that neither Al nor I was awake, the phone rang. I was just about to get out of bed when I heard Al get up and trudge out to the phone. His voice floated through the open door and into bedroom. "Hello?" he asked tiredly. Then, after a second: "Yes." A second after that: "No."… "What? What do you mean?" His voice sounded panicked now. "Are you sure?... Okay. Right. I will…. thank you, goodbye."

"Who was that?" I called tiredly.

"Roy," he said tensely, appearing in the doorway of the room and looking stricken. "Becca's missing."

I sat up. "What?"

"Apparently last night she went home and took a few things and just left," he said, a hand at his head. "He said she's done this before, but usually she's back by now."

I looked at him. "You think she's okay?"

"He said to give her a day to come back," he said. "And if she hasn't by then, he said to start searching for her."

There was silence. Then, I said, "She'll be fine." He shrugged and turned away.

After that, there was no use trying to go back to sleep. I got up and got ready for the day, despite the fact that my eyes kept drooping with tiredness. Al was pacing the whole time, looking very worried. "Calm down," I said to him. "She'll probably be back by noon. It's okay."

It didn't seem like he heard anything I was saying. Eventually, I looked at the clock and said, "Well, I might as well go in early today."

As I put on my coat, Al asked worriedly, "Keep a look out for Becca, won't you?"

"Yeah," I said. "I promise I will." He nodded once and I left.

At the garage, all the doors were open, but there was a '_closed_' sign in the window. I walked in. When Winnie, who was leaning against the wall of the office, heard my footsteps, she turned quickly, but when she saw it was just me, she sighed and looked away. "Hello Ed," she said.

"Hi Winnie," I replied. "Where's Roy?"

She glanced into the office. Following her gaze, I saw Roy sitting behind the desk, his elbows resting on the desk, his face in his hands. "Is he okay?" I asked.

"He'll be fine," she said bitterly. "He's just using Becca as another excuse to blame himself for something."

I looked at her. "So… are we closed today, or what?"

"We'll stay open," she said firmly. "There's no reason we shouldn't."

"But what about-"

At her expression, I trailed off. There was something oddly steely about the way she was looking at Roy; but even as I watched her, something flickered across her face, and I knew that she wasn't as undaunted as she appeared.

I got to work. After half an hour, Roy left the office and fiddled with a few cars. He kept glancing out the windows, and every time the door creaked or someone walked past the shop, he would look up hopefully… but Rebecca didn't show up. At the end of the workday, looking beleaguered and exhausted, Roy beckoned me over to where he was standing, wiping his hands on an already filthy rag.

"Ed," he said seriously. "Before we go to the police tonight, we're going to have a look around town to see if we can't find Becca. I-"

"I'll help," I said, without hesitation. "And I'm sure my brother will want to, also."

Roy nodded gravely. "Your brother has a car, right?"

"Actually, it's – well, yeah. He does."

"Good. You should go tell him to roam around a little, to see if he spots her. We'll be looking for a few hours." I nodded, but from the tone of his voice I could tell he didn't expect Al to find her.

"Okay, I'll tell him," I said, picking up all my things and starting to head out.

"Oh, and Ed," said Roy, before I left. I turned around. "I'll meet you back here after you've told him, alright? I need your help with something."

I nodded once again and resisted the urge to salute. "Sure. I'll be back soon." I left then.

When I got back to our apartment, Al was sitting in the armchair, sketching something, a page full of messy writing next to him.

He leapt up when I entered the room. "No," I said, in answer to the question written all over his face. "No sign of her yet. But Roy said that they're going to be looking for her for a few hours, and-"

"Has he informed the police yet? He really should inform the police," he said quickly.

I shook my head. "No, he hasn't yet. But then again, I don't think Rebecca is too popular with the police – she's been jailed several times, you know."

"Yes, well…" he mumbled something incoherent.

"Anyway, Roy said that if you could look around for her, maybe with the car, then that would be a lot of help." His face seemed to brighten a little with the prospect of helping with the search. "I've got to go back, Roy needs me to do something for him, so just look around for a few hours, okay?"

He nodded earnestly. "Of course."

"Alright. Good luck. See you later." I left again.

Back at the garage, Winnie was sitting resolutely behind the desk in the office. When I raised my eyebrow at this, Roy explained, "I want someone here, just in case she comes back."

"Is that likely?" I asked.

He shook his head shortly. "Just in case," he repeated. It was silent for a moment, then he said, "And as for you: well, you're coming with me."

"What?"

He grimaced hollowly. "Just get in." He motioned to the same car we had used in our rocket trip. I glanced warily at him once, but he avoided my eyes; instead, he just got into the car and turned the keys in the ignition.

As I climbed into the car, I asked, "But wouldn't it make more sense for me to look separately?... So we could cover more ground?"

He sighed. "I think I know where she is," he said. "But I'm not about to go running into that part of town without backup."

"Oh great," I groaned. "Let me guess, you're about to drive me into the worst, most dangerous part of town and we're going to have to wrestle Rebecca away from ten men, all of them larger and stronger than us, andtoting some heavy artillery. Am I right?"

For the first time that day, Roy looked amused. "You're a perceptive little bastard, aren't you?"

"_Am _I right?"

He paused and shrugged, turning down a dark street. "Not exactly. Becca has a pretty shady history… nothing too bad, of course, but, well, she hasn't always made the best choices with who to trust."

"What do you mean?"

He slowed the car down and peered out the windows. In a lower voice, he continued, "Well, her family life was the typical tragedy: her father was killed in the war, her mother remarried a drunk …Becca ran away when she was just a kid, and she doesn't much like to talk about what happened after that, but Winnie… Winnie found her a couple of years later. She was in pretty bad shape."

"Winnie found her?" I asked. Roy nodded, still squinting out the windows.

"Yes. The girls have been like sisters since then, for some inexplicable reason. Every couple of weeks Winnie declares she's never speaking to Becca again, and Becca says she hates Winnie, but they always make up. Don't ask me why they're like that, I have no idea."

I nodded, and took to staring out the windows, like Roy. We were definitely in the rougher part of town. Every now and then there would be someone standing on a street corner, eyeing our car thoughtfully. Once or twice I thought I saw the quick flash of something shiny and metallic being tucked into a jacket.

Suddenly, the car jolted to a stop. "Is that her?" breathed Roy, staring at something in the darkness. I looked the way he was turned, and sure enough, there was a figure that looked a hell of a lot like Rebecca leaning against a grimy wall. It seemed like she was talking to someone else, a man by the look of it. "Come on," said Roy, getting out of the car slowly. I followed suit. "You have to be careful with these kinds of people, Ed," murmured Roy, hovering around the car. "They're completely unpredictable… you got to have the right approach, you know?"

Rebecca and the man were on the other side of the street, and her back was turned, so she didn't see us at first. "So, nice and easy, we just stroll over there, try not to stir up any trouble…Becca'll come with us, I know she will…"

But even as he said that, there was a strangled yelp from the other side of the street; I immediately looked over. The man had Rebecca's back pressed up against the wall, and his lips were at her neck. She hissed something and struggled slightly. I turned back to say something to Roy, but before I could, he had knocked me out of the way and was barreling toward Rebecca and the man.

"YOU GET OFF HER!" he bellowed at the man, wrenching him away from Rebecca and punching him in the face. "DON'T – YOU – DARE!" He punctuated every word with another blow. I just stared, my eyes wide. "Ed, get Rebecca into the car," he said loudly.

"Roy!" she exclaimed, surprised, as I took her by the hand and tried to pull her towards the car.

"Get in the damn car, Rebecca!" he shouted at her, blocking a punch from the other man. Rebecca relented and I dragged her to the car, where she clambered into the backseat, her arms wrapped around herself. I paused, then held out my coat to her. She didn't take it. I shrugged and dropped it on the seat next to her. Then I went back to where Roy and the other man were still throwing punches at each other.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" the other man hollered. He had a strong Irish accent. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the girl's father," replied Roy. "And if you _ever _touch her again-"

"You're not her pa," said the other man, his eyes narrowed. "I happen to know the man! You, sir, are nother father!"

Roy looked like he was going to hit him again, then shook his head and dropped his fists. "I don't want any more trouble. I'm taking her home. If I ever, _ever_ see you again…"

The other man glared at him in silence. Then Roy turned and jerked his head, as if to say '_get in the car_' to me. I obliged. Roy reached out to open the car's door-

_Thunk_. The other man's fist connected with the side of Roy's head. I leapt out of the car again, but Roy had already taken care of it by then. He had grabbed the man's arm, pinned it behind his back in an oddly militant maneuver, and shoved him against the wall. "Hit me," he hissed, "_one more time_…and you won't be walking away with your skull intact."

Roy kneed the guy once, then slipped into the car and, before the man could do anything more than rub his aching shoulders, we had driven away.

There was silence. Then, finally, after what felt like forever, Roy said, "Well, Ed, looks like I didn't need you after all. Good thing, too. I don't want you getting into any more fights, especially not for our sake."

I remembered the time I helped out Winnie and Riza. I had walked away sporting nothing worse than a few bruises that time... Roy wiped blood off his chin. "I'll drop you off at your place, Ed," he said quietly. "Hopefully your brother isn't still out."

"Al was looking for me?" asked Rebecca, in a voice that seemed unnaturally strong, considering what had just happened.

"Yes, he was," said Roy icily. "And as far as I know, he was worried sick, just like all the rest of us."

"Well, you know, I'm _sorry _I disappointed you, Roy, but-"

The car stopped. I got out. "Thank you," said Roy curtly. "And pass that on to your brother, won't you?"

"Yeah," I said. "I will."

As the car drove away, I could hear the two of them arguing loudly.

Al seemed to be sleeping when I opened the door to the apartment, but he woke with a start when I closed the door. "Ed! I didn't find her, I looked all over, I even went to check in at the garage, but Winnie said that she hadn't shown up and neither had you and I was-"

"Don't worry, Al," I said, waving a hand nonchalantly. "It's all okay."

"You found her?"

"We found her."

He let out a huge sigh of relief. "Thank goodness_._ I want to go talk to her." He stood up.

"Maybe that's not a good idea," I said, standing between him and the door. He looked at me.

"But…"

"She's fine, just a little shaken up. You can talk to her tomorrow."

"Oh…well…that's good, but I still-"

"Just get some sleep," I said. "You look exhausted."

Finally, he relented, and sat back down in the armchair. "Did she say anything about me?" he asked hoarsely.

"Well…she seemed glad that you were looking for her," I said.

"Anything else?"

"No…not really. She seemed, um, a little too preoccupied to talk."

His eyes flashed with worry. "What? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing!" I said. "Nothing, Al, she was just quiet."

"Quiet? Why?"

I sighed. I didn't want to tell him where we had found Rebecca. "You can ask her tomorrow."

"Fine," he replied, and there was silence.

He didn't sleep much that night. He kept glancing out the window, as if waiting for someone…something. He had this strange, edgy atmosphere about him, and jumped when I finally stood up and announced I was going to bed.

The next morning, he appeared fit and well-rested, but he couldn't shake that uneasy look from his eye.

**--------------------****--------------------**

I love this chapter. The most action I've written so far. Very fun. We're a little less than halfway through the story here, I think.

I'm thinking about getting a beta reader for this story. Not for spelling or grammar, because for the most part I think I'm fine with that. But I'd like to have someone's input on the flow and story elements before the chapters are posted. This is a huge MAYBE, and not at all a definite yes, but if there's any good beta readers out there... you get the idea :D.

Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it. Any more constructive criticism?


	12. Say No More

Chapter Twelve: Say No More

I could hear them before I saw them.

Still ten meters from the entrance of the garage, several loud voices carried through the chilled air to where I was walking. I recognized at least two of them instantly – Rebecca and Winnie. They seemed to be yelling at each other.

I walked into the garage. Rebecca and Winnie were at opposite sides of the garage, screeching at each other, nostrils flared, eyes flashing with fury. Riza was standing in between them, screaming something along the lines of "_Shut up!_" over and over again. Winnie and Rebecca both had two girls standing next to them. The two girls standing next to Rebecca, one tall, curvy, with long blonde hair, and the other shorter, with cropped hair that greatly resembled Rebecca's, were both red in the face, and shouting at the other girls. On Winnie's side, however, only one of the girls besides Winnie was yelling, a short, pale girl with high cheekbones and brilliant green eyes. The other girl, who was almost grotesquely thin, with red hair and a smattering of freckles, was pleading with Winnie in an undertone. Her words were drowned out by the other girls.

Suddenly, someone grabbed me by the shoulder and wrenched me into the office, where the voices were slightly muffled. I turned around to see Roy standing there, a harassed smile on his face. I asked, "What's going _on _out there?"

"Just a minor argument," he said with a shrug.

"Minor?" I asked dubiously.

He laughed. "I've lived with these girls long enough to know when they're _really _angry." I glanced back out there, just as someone who sounded like Riza screamed, "DON'T YOU _DARE _SUGGEST…"

Roy leaned back in seat behind the desk. "There's not much to do now but ride it out," he said, putting his arms behind his head. "They'll be done in a while."

I sat down. "Who are the other girls out there?" I asked.

"Margaret, Shauna, Fiona and Anne," said Roy lazily. "Margaret – she's the tall blonde – I don't think she really even cares much about the argument, she just wants to be part of something. Shauna – she's the youngest one – absolutely _idolizes _Becca, so she of course she's defending Becca's position. Fiona, the short one, she just came because she doesn't know what else to do, and Anne, the redhead, is the only one trying to break up the fighting. She-" there was an extra-loud shriek from the garage "-hates it when people argue."

He stopped talking, listening to the argument. Winnie screamed, "_Don't make this about me!_" and Riza screeched, "_Do NOT interrupt me!_"

Twenty minutes later, the screaming had been reducing to a low buzz of venomous conversation. That was when Roy stood up and said, "We should go out there, before they start yelling again."

I stood up and nodded, then followed him out. Riza was rubbing her temples while Rebecca talked to her quickly, every now and then glancing at Winnie, who was saying nothing, while the green-eyed girl whom Roy had told me was Fiona chattered excitedly.

Rebecca broke off as we approached. "Oh, hello," she said icily. "Glad to see you've finally decided to join the party."

Riza's response was immediate. "Don't you dare speak to him like that, young lady," she said harshly, in a tone that would make a grown man cringe. "We have provided you with a home and bought the clothes on your back and yet you still _insist _on being insolent, and ungracious, and-"

Roy put her arm around his wife. "Why don't you go sit down, Riza?" he asked gently. "I'll take care of this."

She hesitated for just a moment, then strode away, muttering under her breath. Roy turned to Rebecca, an expression on his face that I couldn't quite decipher. Rebecca sighed. "Don't," she said, folding her arms.

"Ed, you want to go over and talk to Winnie?" said Roy, without looking at me. "Please?"

"Uh – sure," I said. I strode away from them, across the garage, where Winnie was standing, the skinny girl named Anne patting her shoulder appreciatively, and Fiona humming loudly. "Hi," I said, feeling somewhat awkward.

"Hello," she said, her eyes never leaving the back of Rebecca's head.

"So…what exactly were you two arguing about?" I asked. Winnie glanced at me.

"Nothing."

I was just about to reply, "It obviously wasn't nothing," when Fiona stopped humming and asked, "Why do you want to know anyway?"

"Fiona, don't," groaned Anne.

Winnie jerked her head, gave me a look that seemed to say _'you don't have to answer her'_, then said slowly, patiently, as if she were talking to a child, "Fiona, this is Ed. Remember when Roy and I told you about him?"

There was something very strange about Fiona. Even though she was looking at me and appeared alert, there was a sort of glazed sheen over her eyes. It was unsettling. "Oh," she said dully. "My name is Fiona." She held out her hand.

I shook it uncertainly. "Er – nice to meet you." Something that resembled amusement flickered across Winnie's face.

"Ed, this is Anne," said Winnie, motioning towards the other girl. "Anne, Ed." Anne nodded in acknowledgment, her eyes fixated on the ground, her shoulders hunched over strangely. Her nose was slightly crooked, like it had broken and never really set properly. Winnie was still looking at Rebecca. "You must think I'm a real-"

But she didn't finish her sentence, because, at that moment, Riza's voice rung out around the garage. "Roy?" she asked, and something in her voice caused everyone to look around at her. She was at the door of the office, her face pale. There were several police cars turning into the parking lot.

Roy did not hesitate; without saying anything, he strode out to the front of the garage and started speaking to the officers. A man who was not a policeman ducked out of one of the cars.

"I should go help him," said Rebecca, heading that way, but Riza caught her by the arm.

"You'll cause us no more trouble, Becca. Stay here." Rebecca rolled her eyes, but stayed still, while I went right past her to stand next to Roy, who was now trying to reason with four policemen, and the Irishman who had been hassling Rebecca the night before.

"This is the man?" asked one of the policemen, pointing to Roy. The other man nodded confidently, barely concealing a smirk. He had several bad bruises around his cheeks and eyes.

"That's him, Officer," he said.

"This is ridiculous!" said Roy. "I haven't done anything-"

Another officer began to put handcuffs on Roy as the first one said, "Sir, I'm afraid you're under arrest for assault."

"No!" I said loudly.

"_What?_" asked Roy. "_Assault?_ I was just defending a helpless woman!"

"Get in the car, sir," said the officer holding the handcuffs.

"If you're going to arrest anyone, it should be _him!_" I shouted, pointing at the bruised Irishman. "You can't-" I tried to stop the officer from shoving Roy into the car. Another policeman caught me, threw me to the ground, and put a knee on my back.

"If you do that again, sir, we're going to have to take you in for attacking a police officer," he said coolly. He lifted his knee off my back. I looked powerlessly to Roy.

As he was forced into the seat, he managed to say a few words to me. "I'll be fine!" he said. "Don't get involved! Tell Riza to-" the officer slammed the door in his face "-tell Riza to take the girls home!"

"Roy!" cried Riza.

As the car started and began to roll away, Roy shouted two last words: "It's okay!"

Then there was silence.

Riza broke the stillness. She snapped, "Ed, who was that man?"

I turned around, and couldn't stop my eyes from wandering to Rebecca. Riza whirled around and stared at the girl expectantly.

"His name is Joseph O'Mahony," said Rebecca lamely.

"What happened last night?" demanded Riza.

"He… Well, Roy found him bothering me and he took care of him. I mean… he was only protecting me."

Suddenly, a hand shot out of nowhere and Winnie had slapped Rebecca across the face. "THIS IS _YOUR _FAULT!" she shrieked. "WHY THE HELL DID YOU HAVE TO RUN OFF?"

Rebecca stumbled when Winnie hit her. Everyone looked at her, expecting her to scream something in reply. But she just stood there, looking at the ground dully. There was a pregnant pause.

Then Winnie sighed. "It's not your fault," she said lowly. "I'm sorry I said that."

"Oh," was all Rebecca said. Winnie rolled her eyes and bit her lip, then looked pleadingly to Riza.

"Let's go bust him out!" said Fiona loudly, largely defusing the awkwardness of the situation. Everyone began to talk at the same time.

"What do we do, what do we do, what do we do-"

"Who was that guy? Do you know that guy? I'm sure we know that guy…"

"Let's go home, that's what Roy wanted us to do…"

"_What do we do, what do we do?_"

"Winnie, take the girls home," said Riza, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. "I'll go see what I can do." She glanced at me. "Roy might need your help, Ed…"

"I'm there," I said immediately. "I'll do everything I can."

"Thank you," she said gratefully.

Then Rebecca said, "I don't want to go home. I _know _this is partly my fault and I want to help."

Riza glared at her. "No. Go home."

"But-"

"No buts!" said Riza, her voice rising several octaves. "Winnie! _Now!_"

Winnie just stared at Riza.

"No," she said softly.

Riza looked at her. "What?"

"Becca's right. She should take some responsibility for this." Winnie paused. "Fiona, Ann, Margaret, Shauna… let's go. Becca…take care of this."

She left the garage with the rest of the girls in tow. Fiona's eyes were unfocused and she skipped lightly outside. Anna kept her head down when she passed me, while Margaret smiled seductively and brushed my side warmly. Shauna didn't move.

Riza sighed. "Shauna…"

"If Becca's staying, so am I," she said, folding her arms resolutely and standing next to Rebecca. She couldn't have been older than thirteen.

Winnie took the girl by the shoulders and gently guided her out. "Rebecca's staying because she has to. You, on the other hand…"

The disappeared into a car. Riza, Rebecca and I were left alone. Then Riza grabbed a coat from a stand and hurried out. "Where do you think he is, Becca?" asked Riza.

"West station," she replied without hesitation. "That's the way they were headed." She paused, then added, "I noticed Officer Brown was with them. He's always been pretty sympathetic, you know."

Riza said nothing. She glanced at me. "Please say so if we're asking too much of you, Ed," she said. "But I would feel much better if you would stay a little longer."

I shook my head. "No, I'm happy to help."

With a brisk walk bordering on a jog, the three of us made it to the police station in just over ten minutes. The silence was powerful and somehow seemed to be alive, like there was some sort of unnamed energy in the air.

Riza went straight into the station and past the front room, to a dingy concrete room where Roy was sitting on a small cot behind bars. A policeman stood up to stop us. I wondered vaguely where the rest of them were

"Riza!" called Roy, as the police officer said, "Can I help you?"

"That's my husband," she said, pointing to Roy. "He shouldn't be in here – he didn't do anything wrong!"

The officer seemed to have not heard you. "I'm going to have to ask you to go into the other room."

"But this can't be _legal_-"

"Pardon me, Officer," said Rebecca, sliding in front of Riza, so she was face-to-face with the policeman. "You must excuse her, she's very upset right now…"

She made a small motion with her hand, as if to tell Riza and I to go away. I glanced around at the large policeman behind me, then tugged Riza softly. "I'm not-" Riza began, but Rebecca shot a glance her way, and she was silent. We went into the main room of the station, but we could still hear Rebecca's voice, purring quietly to the policeman… I looked out the window, trying to block out the noise. Riza was biting her fingernails worriedly.

Suddenly, the door banged open again and Winnie strode into the station. She saw us and said, "Riza, where's-"

"Shh," said Riza, pointing to the other room. "Becca's taking care of it."

Winnie turned faintly pink. Then she shook her head and marched into the room where Roy's cell was.

We followed her quickly. Rebecca was smiling up at the man, pressing herself unnecessarily close to him. Winnie put a hand on Rebecca's shoulder and wrenched her away from the man. "You scumbag," she spat.

The man looked somewhat surprised. "What-"

"This man has done _nothing _wrong!" she said, pointing at Roy. "You have _no right _to imprison him!"

The officer shrugged. "Sorry, Ma'am, but I can't do anything about it."

"You could let him go!"

"You know as well as I do that I can't do that," he responded. "This man was charged with assault on an innocent man-"

"_What?_ That is so, so, _so_ wrong, I can't even-"

The door to the police station opened and several officers filed in, as well as the Irishman who had accused Roy, and another man I didn't recognize. He grinned sickly at us.

The whole room went silent when the man slid into the room. His nose and mouth seemed too large for his face, or else his eyes too small. His hair was dark and thinning, and his fingers were fat and sausage-like.

"I am not happy that you dragged my daughter into this affair, Mr. Mustang," he said, with a voice that could have belonged to a snake. "I will be taking her immediately out of your care."

"No!" said Riza, and Roy was standing up, staring at the man with such hatred that I had never seen before.

"Get out of here," he growled. The man just smiled.

He turned to face Riza, Rebecca, Winnie and I. "I see you've replaced the boy already," he said quietly, his tiny eyes resting on me. "How…_convenient._"

"You're not taking her," said Winnie defiantly, though she shook as she said it. "I won't let you."

The man looked at Winnie coldly, then he glanced out of the room. I noticed all the policemen had retreated to the front room.

He whispered, "Too late."

He grabbed Rebecca by the arm. "Come," he said. "Your mother is waiting for you."

"No!" cried Roy, Riza and Winnie together, and Winnie threw herself at the man, only to be blocked by several policemen.

"It was a lucky thing Joe found you, girl," said the man loudly. "I would have been very upset if you had to scrounge around with these pigs any longer." Rebecca had tears streaming down her face by now.

Dragging Rebecca in tow, the man reached out an arm to open the door-

But before he could reach it, someone opened it from the outside.

My brother Al stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. Then, frowning slightly, he asked, "What's going on here?"

There was a split second of silence, then everyone burst into talk. The policemen who recognized Al were trying to be polite, but at the same time describe the situation. The man I could only assume was Rebecca's father starting roaring about these improper intrusions, and Riza, Winnie, Roy and I were trying to shout what was really happening.

After a few seconds of this, Al held up his hands. The police shut up at once. I silenced myself, and so did Riza, Winnie and Roy. Only Rebecca's father was still shouting.

"Who are you?" asked Al calmly.

"I'm the girl's father!" he bellowed, pulling up Rebecca. She met Al's gaze, and I saw him give her a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

"I thought her father was dead," Al replied bluntly.

The man turned slightly red. "Yeah…well. I'm her stepfather, ain't I?"

"I don't know," said Al. "Are you?"

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. He had this under control.

The man was very flustered by now. He let go of Rebecca and said loudly, "Don't mess with me, kid! I'm getting out of here…"

He grabbed Rebecca and lunged towards the door. Al stood resolutely in his way. "I'm sorry," he said politely. "But I don't think you're in any fit state to take care of your step-daughter."

The man glared at him. "What are you talking about?"

Al glanced at the policemen. "This man should be arrested."

"What?" roared the man. "Jesus Christ man, what are you going on about?"

"He has a definite smell of alcohol about him," continued Al, unfazed by the man's shouting. "If I were you, I would apprehend this man."

The police hesitated for a moment, then one said, "Go on, then!" and they grudgingly advanced toward the man.

"What do you take me for, an idiot?" he screeched. "I ain't no drunk! Get offa' me!" The man glared heavily at Al. "You'll pay for this, boy."  
"I don't think I will, sir," he said politely, and the man shook off the police and ran out of the station. Al looked at the police expectantly. "Well? Go after him!"

"Yessir," mumbled two or three of them, and they darted out of the station. Al looked at Rebecca once, then pulled something out of his pocket.

"How much is bail?" he asked, nodding toward Roy. Roy began, "No, don't-" but Riza shushed him.

"Hundred dollars, sir," said an officer.

"Well I think I can take care of that," said Al quietly. He handed the money to an officer, who then took the keys and unlocked Roy's cell. He hurried all of us outside, where he turned to Al.

"Thank you," he said gruffly. "So much. I can't-"

Roy broke off, as Al was staring at Rebecca, who wasn't meeting his gaze. Finally she took him by the arm and said, "Let's talk."

They strode off away from us, and Rebecca began to speak very quickly, gesturing with her hands. Al just looked at her, somewhat more pale than usual.

"We should be getting home," said Riza. "Daley might need us."

Roy nodded. He shook my hand firmly. "Thanks, again," he said. He glanced at Rebecca and Al. "I think the garage is going to be closed tomorrow," he murmured. "So you don't have to come in. Becca," he called. "We're going."

"We'll take her home," replied Al, still looking at Rebecca.

Roy sighed. "See you, Ed," he said, then got into the car with Riza. Winnie sidled up to me. I smiled weakly at her.

Then she totally took me surprise, and put her arms around me in a tight embrace. She loosened her arms slightly, and, her lips a centimeter away from my ear, she whispered, "I need to talk to you…can I meet you at the garage tomorrow, ten o'clock?"

"Uh – yes, of course," I said, frowning slightly. She nodded, kissed me on the cheek, then got into the car.

As I watched the black car drive away, the air was very, very cold, but when I reached up a hand to touch the spot on my face where Winnie had kissed me, I felt incredibly warm.

**--------------------****--------------------**

So... _was_ this Rebecca's fault, after all? And what do you think about the relationship between Ed and Winnie? Could it _possibly _be more than just friends?

So the beta-reader idea probably is just fizzling out. I've had a pretty busy week, so forgive me for not updating on Wednesday. Thank you all for reading, as well as your wonderful support, I really appreciate it. As usual, review, tell me what you think of this chapter. Anything you see wrong? More constructive criticism, anyone?

There are more girls than are mentioned in this chapter, and all of them have stories, which will all be revealed in time. Thanks once again.


	13. Nothing's Worth This

Chapter Thirteen: Nothing's Worth This

With Rebecca in the passenger seat, Al drove to our apartment, and I got out, then left to take Rebecca home. He took a couple hours, though, so I assumed they had also had a long conversation. What about, though, I had no idea.

The sun was warming my back as I strode down the street, the next morning at ten o'clock. The ice below my feet was melting slowly.

Winnie was standing in front of the garage, her cheeks flushed, her fingers twisting a strand of hair that had fallen out of her cap. When she saw me, she smiled and beckoned me over. "Good morning," she said quietly, brushing a hand against my arm. I smiled in return. She nodded toward the garage. "I have the keys," she said, holding up a ring of small keys, then finding one and sticking it into the lock. "Roy doesn't know I took them, and hopefully he doesn't find out, because I want privacy."

My heart seemed to beat a little faster as she let us in and took me to the small office. Instead of sitting at the desk, however, she sat on the bench lining one side of the office. I sat down next to her.

She turned to me, looked me in the eyes intensely, and asked, "Do you know why Becca ran away?"

Slightly taken aback, I shook my head. "N-no, I don't, but I thought-"

She frowned. "Your brother didn't tell you?"

"Al? What? No, he didn't say anything."

Now she looked not only surprised, but rather intrigued. "Really? I thought he would have told you first…"

"Told me what?" I asked, annoyed.

She looked at me strangely for a second, then said, "Becca thinks… Becca thinks she may be with child. And – no, no, don't look like that, she's not sure yet, she just – she just wants attention, that's all, she's probably just lying anyway…" She trailed off. I was still staring at her, stunned.

"_What?_" I asked, barely able to speak. "But… that would mean… Al…"

"Becca told me she left because your brother refused to run away with her. I bet she's lying, again, she lies about everything, but… do you know anything about this?"

I shook my head, still shocked. "No…I had no idea… Al didn't tell me anything…" I looked back at her. Her expression was a mixture between uncertainty and pity. "I had no idea," I repeated.

She sighed, and, to my surprise, she took my hand and carefully leaned her head on my shoulder. "It's okay," she whispered. "Brothers can be like that."

As much as I loved being this close to her… it didn't feel right. There was something tense and uncomfortable about her head resting on my shoulder, and her hand was clutching mine, unnaturally stiff.

Slowly, quietly, she said, "If someone had told me, after Michael was killed, that it wouldn't even be a whole year before my heart was mended… well, I'm not sure what I would have said, but it would have included lots of swear words." She gave a tiny chuckle. "But… for some reason, Michael's death…" I turned my head, so we were facing each other. She stared into my eyes, and then slowly put a hand on my cheek. "Michael's death doesn't seem to matter anymore," she said softly.

There was an awkward pause. Then I turned away. She didn't move.

"That came out wrong," she said.

"Yes," I agreed. "It did."

There was a short silence, then it sounded like the door of the garage opened. Winnie's eyes widened. "Oh no," she said. "I didn't lock the door!"

For a second I was scared it might be a robber, or else Rebecca's step-father. Then an unfamiliar voice called, "Winnie?"

Winnie let a sigh of relief. "In here, Irene."

A tall, skinny woman with big dark brown eyes and bony hands appeared in the doorway. "Oh, thank goodness," she said, shaking her head. "I'm so glad I found you. Riza's not happy." The girl glanced at me. Then she smiled slyly and looked back at Winnie. "And who is this?" she asked.

"This is Ed," said Winnie, rolling her eyes. "Ed, this is Irene."

"Nice to finally meet you," said Irene, shaking my hand briskly. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Really?" I said blandly. "Well, I should be going. Thanks, Winnie. Pleasure meeting you, Irene."

Irene said nothing as I passed her and left the building. It was very quiet outside, despite the warm weather. As I passed that same old shop that I had gotten the wooden transmutation circle at, I saw two boys outside the shop. One was wrenching up ice from the ground, trying to make a snowball out of it, and the other was shivering and complaining. "Let's go home, it's cold, please, this isn't fun…"

I smiled.

What happened ten years ago felt like a lifetime ago. It felt like it just could not possibly have been nearly seven years since …

'Since we were children' doesn't seem appropriate here. I remember once, a homunculus called Lust told me that when I decided to join the state alchemists, I gave up all claims to childhood for power… I said nothing to contradict her. Because I knew it was true. I can try to justify my actions by saying I was young, or I was foolish… but even that would be a lie. Well, I was young, yes, but I knew full well what I was doing, and the consequences of my actions, but I decided to do it anyway. It seemed like a wholly rational decision at the time, and if, under those circumstances, I had to make the same choice today, I would do the same thing I did last time. But now, when I'm not obsessed with getting my brother's body back, I realize how stupid I was being.

I have considered, sometimes, that I really lost my childhood when I tried to bring my mother back, or even before that, when she died in front of my eyes and I could not do a thing to help her. But then I remember that pang of hope I felt, despite the physical pain of limbs being torn from my body, and the mental pain of not knowing where my brother went, when I heard something breathing in the room where we had attempted the transmutation… I remember my words, my feelings, so vividly. Its image haunts me to this day.

Still, I was a child. Even weeks after that, when my automail had become familiar, and Al didn't scare me every time I saw him, I was a child.

When I became a state alchemist, I knew exactly what I was getting into. I knew I was a soldier; I knew _very _well that I was then a mere dog of the military. And I joined despite of that, just so I could continue my wild goose chase for the legendary Philosopher's Stone.

I say _I _instead of _we_ because I don't ever think Al was as devoted to the cause as I was. I know he wanted the Stone desperately, but he's naturally such a selfless person that he only wanted it so I could have my body back… he pretended being cold metal wasn't that bad…

Al… Rebecca….

I knew Al and Rebecca were _together_, but I didn't think… I never saw Al as the type… Rebecca _couldn't _be pregnant. Impossible. Simply impossible. There was no way Al would ever allow something like that to happen. But then again, Rebecca isn't the best influence in the world… I thought it best to be honest and ask him about it. Actually, I hadn't even considered the fact that Rebecca might not have told Al. Maybe he just didn't know.

When I walked into the apartment, I saw Al sitting on the couch with his feet up, frowning slightly as he sketched something in a notebook.

"Hello," he said, not even looking up. "I thought you had work today."

"No," I replied. "Not today… I thought you were at a class."

"Cancelled," he said nonchalantly. "The professor's sick."

"Ah…" I murmured, and I suddenly felt stupid. I didn't know what to say to him; I had no idea how to bring up what I needed to ask. I hovered awkwardly in the room for a moment, causing him to glance up at me.

"Yes?" he asked expectantly, giving me that look he gives people when they interrupt him while he's drawing. I was reminded of a time where Noa and I would try to imitate his expression, and laugh hysterically when we failed.

I opened my mouth as if to say something, then shut it again. Then I sighed and sat down across from Al.

His expression quickly changed into one of concern. He put his sketchpad aside and sat up straight. "What is it?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," I said. "It's… I just talked to Winnie, and she… well, she said some things, and I don't know if they're true or not."

"Some things?" he asked innocently. "Like what?"

"She said…" I paused. "She said Rebecca ran away because you told her you wouldn't run away with her."

He looked at me for a second, then nodded and looked away. "Yes. I didn't take her seriously. I should have-"

"She also told me," I continued, feeling less awkward, "something else about Rebecca and you."

He looked up. For a moment, there was silence, then he said lowly, "You know, then?" I nodded. He sighed. "I should have said something to you. I'm sorry." He paused, then continued, "Rebecca says she thinks she's about two months along, but I don't think so, I mean, she doesn't _look_ it, and… I don't know. I just don't believe it."

Hearing this confirmation of my fears, coming from my own brother's mouth, was shocking. I just stared at him for a few seconds, eyes wide. He kept glancing down at the couch, at his sketch, at the wall, the ceiling, the painting on the wall – anywhere but my eyes. Finally, I managed to force out a few words.

"How could you be so – _stupid?_"

He said nothing.

"Really!" I said. "What were you thinking? I want an answer!"

He was still silent.

"Alphonse, I'm _talking to you_-"

"Don't talk to me like that," he said, looking me squarely in the face at last. "Don't talk to me like you're Dad. I hate it when you do that."

"What?" I asked him. "What are you talking about?"

He stood up and let out a sigh of frustration, then, heading towards his office, he muttered, "I'm not going to spell this out for you."

I stood up as well. "Wait, this conversation isn't over!"

He turned around instantly, and there was something different about his eyes, something I had never seen before. I couldn't quite decide what it was.

"You're doing it again!" he said, loudly. He put his hands to his head, as if he were ready to tear his hair out. "God, it's so irritating! You act like you're this high and mighty force just because you're my older brother! I know it's hard for you to accept, but we're actual adults now – _I'm _an adult! So it doesn't matter which one of us was born first, you have no right whatsoever to talk to me like that!"

I gaped at him. "I have everyright!" I countered. "I am your _family_, and that means that you have to listen to me!"

He let out a wild, manic laugh, and I realized that expression in his eyes had been anger, real anger… "No, that's where you're wrong! See, this wonderful_, _beautiful place we're in right now, it's a _free country_, and that means I have no obligation at all to listen to what you have to say!"

Alarmed by this uncharacteristic reaction, I asked, "Is this all because I mentioned Rebecca? Are you angry at Rebecca?"

"No," he said, exasperated. "I'm not angry at Rebecca, I'm angry at _you!_ I've put up with everything from you thus far – and believe me, you have thrown _everything _at me – and I'm just _sick of it!_ I need to have my own life! I'm not going to pretend to care about what you think of everything I do forever!"

He paused to take a breath. I said, "Al, it's okay if you don't want to talk about Rebecca right now, I understand. I know how it feels, I've had ex-"

"Oh great," he said loudly, rolling his eyes. "Great! Now you're going to come up with a cute little anecdote to point out _once again_ that you have just had so much more _experience _than I have had, in _every single aspect of life_. Go ahead! I'm all ears!"

I stared at him. "Is that what this is all about? Al, when it comes to women, I have, neither in this world nor our own, more experience than-"

"And _that_," he roared over me, "is the _second _thing I hate the most about you! You always have to bring up _'our world!'_ It's _always got to be about 'our world!' _Here's a new flash, Ed: _this _is our world now! Get over them! Move on with your life! It's possible – I'm _living proof _it's possible! I am _so close _to being happy! So close! But then there's you, there's always you, to make me forget about how good things are getting, and remind me that our past is not history, nor will it ever be history!"

"Wait," I said, frowning. "I thought-"

"_Nothing you think is ever true!_" he screamed at me. "Nothing you believe is right! You have these stupid theories about everyone you know, and you _think _you know how I'm feeling and you _think _you're so right and you _think _you can understand! Let me tell you something, to see if it can penetrate that thick head of yours: _YOU'RE! WRONG!"_

After bellowing these words, he grabbed his coat and threw himself out the door.

I stared at the spot he had just vacated for what felt like hours, trying to comprehend everything that had just happened… I didn't know Al had been so fed up with me. I didn't know he felt that way at all… I reached for my coat and followed Al's footsteps out the door. The car was still there, so I knew he couldn't have gone far. I was not entirely sure what I was going to say when I found him, or why I needed to find him so badly anyway, but I just knew if I did, then everything would be okay. I walked quickly, my head turning around and around, hopelessly trying to guess where he would be. I walked nearly three blocks before I found him.

There was a church on the edge of the street. I couldn't say what drew me towards this place, but I suddenly was sure I knew where Al was. I approached the tall wooden doors slowly, cautiously, as if someone was about to jump out at me from behind them. Then, I reached out a hand and, little by little, I pushed the door open.

The floor was stone and my steps seemed magnified in the silent church. The only windows were stained glass, and they threw dancing, colored light on the floor. There was a huge cross at the front of the church, as well as a pulpit that was empty at the moment. Al was sitting in a pew three seats from the front. I slowly began walking toward him. All sound from the outside was muffled strangely in here. It made me very uncomfortable as I sat down next to him.

There was silence for a few minutes. Al's eyes were fixed on the cross. I was about to say something, when Al muttered, "Do you remember the first time we went to Lior?"

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. "Of course. That was the first time we met-"

"Rose, yes," he said, finishing my sentence for me. "Do you remember that false prophet we unmasked? Father Cornello?"

"Yes…why?"

He paused for a second, then continued. "Everyone thought Cornello was a messenger from their god because of the miracles he performed using alchemy. It was those miracles, and those alone, that made them believe." He paused again. "Alchemy is impossible here. No one is fooling anyone with fake miracles. But the people here… they still believe. Why?"

I looked at him oddly. "Well it's basic human nature, Al; all people want to believe in something."

As he continued, his eyes were wide and slightly starry. I was unsure what was happening. "I'm human," he breathed. "At last. I want to believe in something."

"Al…don't kid yourself. You – you believe in plenty of things," I replied, but I was feeling more uncertain by the minute. He finally looked at me.

"Like what?" he asked simply.

"Well, like…science. Newton's laws. Einstein's theories…equivalent exchange."

"No," he said, shaking his head, turning away from me. "_You_ believe in equivalent exchange. I thought you would have figured this out by now, Ed. Life isn't fair."

"What?" I asked, confused. "I never said it was!"

"Yes, you did! That's the whole concept of equivalent exchange! In order to gain something, _anything_, something of equal value must be lost. All life is balanced and fair. That is the theory of equivalent exchange."

I had nothing to say. I could only stare at him.

"And that's all it is, too!" he said, shaking his head. "A theory!..." He stood up. "You know," he continued clearly. "I asked Becca why people believe. Do you know what she told me?" he paused, staring at the cross. "She said, 'That's what faith is, isn't it? Believing in something you can't see'…" He said nothing for a few moments, then turned and left the church. I stared at the cross for a second, then I, too, rose and followed him out.

Faith. Believe in something you have no physical proof exists… I have vast amounts of faith. I believe in my own world, although I can't see it. I know it's there, and I know my friends are growing up without me. I _know_ that world exists, on the other side of the Gate.

What was the Gate, anyway? Was it knowledge? Was it the truth? I had seen nothing about a supreme God in the Gate… there was no proof any omnipresent being had ever existed… unless…

What were those things in the Gate? Were they evil? Or where that all part of a single, larger entity… what if the Gate _was_ God?

I shook my head and hurried down the street. What a stupid idea. There was no God, and even if there was, to appear in the form of a Gate between worlds would be just too far-fetched.

I was thinking so hard, I almost passed Al by. He was leaning against the wall of a shop close to the church, obviously waiting for me. Without saying anything, we began walking together. We both began to talk at the same time.

"Al, I'm sorry-"

"Brother, I shouldn't have-"

We stopped talking and looked at each other. He sighed and said, "You go first."

I took a deep breath, then said, "I'm sorry. I realize I have probably been holding you back lately. I mean, I understand you have to live your own life, it's just… I don't know. I'm finding it hard to let go of…"

"No, no, no," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't mean anything I said to you. I'm the one who should be sorry, I shouldn't have blown up like that. And you have not been holding me back, not at all, and it's fine if you can't, or don't want to let go of our past. Our past is who we are, and if we ever forget it, we'll just be lost."

I glanced at him. "So you didn't mean anything you said?"

He hesitated. "Well… I'm not going to lie to you. There were a few things I meant. One or two."

There was a short silence. Then I asked, "Like what?"

He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well, sometimes you do act like I should take all of your advice, just because you're my older brother. And though I certainly do respect that…it's old-fashioned thinking. That time has passed, the only thing that binds you and I together is our shared past… and I will never let that go."

The silence lasted longer this time. He was avoiding my gaze, but I was frowning at him slightly, trying to figure this out. "So, basically, what you're saying," I said softly, "is that the only reason you put up with me is because of all that crap we took together back in…"

"Our own world, yes," he muttered distractedly. Then, as I gave him an odd look, he froze, and said, "Wait a second, I didn't-"

"I get it," I said coolly.

"No, that's really not what I-"

"Tell you what," I told him. "I promise you that I'll be out of your hair as soon as I can. When I get paid, I'll move out and find my own place. Okay?"

"No, of course you don't have to do that-"

"I want to do this. I'll be fine on my own." He still looked unsure. "Come on, don't be like that. I'm an adult now, too. I can take care of myself…besides, I think it's time I gave you a little space."

Neither of us said anything for a while after that. Then, finally, Al said, "I'm sorry. I was wrong to say those things to you."

I smiled softly and patted him on the back.

"I forgive you," I lied.

**---------------------****---------------------**

Can you tell I like writing arguments? And _this one_ was very fun.

So, some questions to ponder: Is Rebecca _actually _pregnant? Is Al okay? Were his arguments justified? Were they _right? _What will become of Winnie and Ed, when they are so close... and yet so far? What is Irene's story?

As usual, please review: I would really like some constructive criticism on this chapter, to see what I could've done better. Thanks so much for all your support, I really appreciate it!


	14. Forgotten Already

**A/N: I've just posted a long author's note about this story on my profile. I'm not going to post it _in _the story because I don't want to interrupt the flow, but i****f you're interested in what _my _opinion of this story is and what I'm going to do (thanks to you guys!) to make the chapters better in the future, please check it out. And while you're at it, vote in my new poll! Thanks again!**

Chapter Fourteen: Forgotten Already

I left early in the morning, before Al woke up. I didn't want to face him. Roy was at the garage when I got there.

"You're early," he said.

I shrugged.

It was a slow day. Most of the time I hid under the hood of cars, saying as little as possible. Finally, near the end of the day, looking at me with a strange expression in his eye, Roy said, "What's up with you? You're unusually quiet."

I stayed still for a moment, wondering what to say. Then I pasted a smile on my face, extracted myself from the hood of the car and straightened up. "Ah, just thinking. I…I've got to find some place to stay, because I just think it's time to give my brother a little space, you know?"

He looked at me concernedly. "Really? You sure?"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely," I said, trying to control the amount of blood rushing to my face. "Yeah, I've been thinking about it for a while now, so I just think I might as well get out now."

"I see… well, have you got any ideas where you're going to stay?"

I shook my head. "Nah, not really. I figure I'll find someplace. Although… well, I'm going to leave some money with my brother, you know, to compensate for everything I haven't paid for… so I'm not exactly sure…" I trailed off.

"Oh, yeah, I understand. But you know, if you can't find somewhere, then you could stay at my place for a while. It's pretty big, I'm sure we could handle one more person," he offered.

His tone was polite, but sincere. I could tell he was seriously offering this to me. However, I shook my head. "Thank you, but I really couldn't. It can't be that hard to find-"

Roy laughed. "You're in New York City, Ed. We're way overpopulated already. There's no way you're going to find a place that is affordable and also has sanitary living conditions. I'm offering you somewhere that meets both of those terms. Well, to some extent." He grinned. "Come on, just until you save up enough to get somewhere better. I'd like to help you out. Maybe this'll give you the jumpstart you need."

It sounded for a second like he was going to say more, but then he thought better of it and stopped. I weighed my options. It would be great to be out so soon, but I wouldn't want to impose on what seemed like an already too large household. "I don't know-" I began.

"Really, Ed," he said. "I want to help you."

I thought about it for a moment longer. Then, I said, "Okay, yeah. That would be great. Are you sure?"

"Completely."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, I owe you a big one-"

"Ah, don't thank me too early," he laughed. "We still need to negotiate rent." I smiled. "So how does this weekend sound? I could help you move in."

"Yeah, of course, that would be terrific. Really, thank you."

"No problem," he said, grinning. "Now come on, it's time to close up."

Walking home that day, in the lazy sort of silence that comes with a warming of weather and melting of snow, I looked again to that spot between buildings where that spider had been trapped. There was no web there anymore.

It was with a sense of what felt like justified freedom that I fell asleep that night. I had talked to Al only as little as possible. He looked guilty. I didn't mind. If he chose to feel bad about something, that was his choice, and there was nothing I could do about it – isn't that just what he had told me last night? Anyway, things were looking up for me. I was happy.

The dreams came back that night.

At first, it was good. I didn't even know it was a dream; I thought it was real, and that I was back with Noa. She smiled as she held my hand, riding in the back of a truck, like she had been the day I met her. But then there was an ever so slight change in her features, and she let go of my hand as a small bundle of cloth appeared in her arms, and Rose and I were standing in the middle of a ballroom. She was whispering words of comfort to her baby. She looked so young.

She looked up at me. "I knew what I was saying," she said, her voice echoing.

The scene changed again. I was on a train, then walking next to a suit of armor, then holding a little blonde-haired girl, then playing with a dog with a metal leg…

A woman appeared, standing still in front of me, even as the scenery around us changed. My mother smiled. Then, as Noa had, she changed the tiniest bit. And she was Sloth. And I was killing her.

Suddenly, it was all dark. There was a voice. "Equivalent exchange," it whispered in my ear, "is a _lie._"

There was a column of light in the distance. It was shining bright light on a letter. I picked it up. "_Dante_," came my father's voice, reading the letter aloud, "_my love…_"

There was a blinding pain in my abdomen. A homunculus was grinning. His eyes flickered to the place where he had stabbed me. Blood covered his arm, my body, the floor, and everything was red.

Then, there was a baby, lying on the floor. It wasn't Rose's baby – I didn't really know what Rose's baby looked like, but somehow I knew that it wasn't this one. This one had a tuft of blonde hair on its head, and its eyes were closed. It was sleeping.

The babe reappeared in Hohenheim's arms. He smiled and showed it to his wife. Trisha, looking worn and tired, held out a hand to brush the child's face. "We'll call him Edward," she whispered.

The smell of rotting flesh overwhelmed me and my father was being crushed in the jaws of a gigantic serpent. I was trapped in a rocket. Outside, I could see Alfons being shot, and I knew that if I could just get out of the rocket and get to him, then everything would be alright and he would be alive, but I was stuck, and I couldn't get out, and then there were hands, black hands that grabbed at me and would not let me go-

I awoke with a start. It was still dark outside. Sitting up in bed, I rubbed my temples. I glanced over to Al's bed. In the dim moonlight, I could see that he was lying down, staring at the ceiling. A tear slid down the side of his face.

I turned away. Still silent, I lay back down and closed my eyes. He didn't say anything, and neither did I.

Al and I said very little to each other the following day. It was like there was this wall between us, and to knock it down would take too much energy, so we both were content with it staying up, dividing us. After all, we wouldn't have to deal with each other for much longer.

On Saturday, Roy came over to help me get my stuff over to his place. He talked to Al politely for a few minutes. They both seemed to acknowledge the fact that they were tied together because of Rebecca. Both of them cared about her – it was a lot like a conversation between a father and the man his daughter was involved with. It was awkward. For me, at least.

When I was stuck in the passenger seat and Roy was driving to his house, he asked me, "You have a fight with your brother?"

"Why does it matter?" I replied curtly, staring out the window.

"No reason," he said coolly. "Friendly conversation, Ed."

I sighed. "Sorry. Yeah, we had an argument. But we're brothers. It's fine."

"Is it?" he asked, and despite his airy tone of voice, I couldn't help but wonder if he meant it.

He stopped in front of this large, brick building. There were few windows, and dark gray curtains hung limply in the few ones that were there. Getting out of the car, I murmured, "It looks like a prison."

Roy laughed. "Used to be an orphanage. My grandmother bequeathed it to me in her will, hoping I'd do something worthwhile with it. To tell the truth, I wish she'd given me the contents of her bank account instead." He chuckled again. I wasn't really sure what to say to this.

I didn't bring much. I didn't have much in the first place. With Roy carrying some, it only took us one trip to get everything inside. It was a slightly dingy place. At one time, it might have been grand – a dusty old chandelier hung in the front hall, and the tables all had ornate carvings on the bottom of their legs. The carpet was a dull red. "Ed's here," said Roy as he passed an open door. I waved and mumbled, "Good morning," as I passed the kitchen where Riza, Winnie, Anne, Tom and a girl I didn't know were sitting. Winnie's face broke into a wide smile when she saw me.

Roy led me up a flight of stairs, to where the carpet gave way to a shiny wood floor, and into a room on the left. It was a very plain room; there was a bed, and a dresser. Roy dropped what he was holding onto the bed. "I know we have an old desk lying around somewhere," he said, surveying the room. "We could move it in here later, if you like."

"This is perfect," I said. "Thanks."

He grinned. "My pleasure." He paused. "You want to come downstairs? I could introduce some of the others girls to you."

I thought of Winnie, and her smile when she saw me. "Sure," I said.

We went back down the stairs, and he led me back to the kitchen we had passed on our way up. Roy and I sat down at the table, and Riza got up. "Would you like some coffee, or maybe some tea?" Tom left his mother's side and went to sit on Roy's lap.

"No thank you," I replied. Anne, who was sitting in between Winnie and the girl I didn't know, stared at her hands.

"Hello," said the girl I didn't know. "I don't think we ever formally met. My name is Margaret." I recognized her as one of the girls who was arguing that one day with Rebecca and Winnie. She smiled at me, but not with that kind look that I had grown accustomed to. There was something else there, especially in the way she was leaning in over the table toward me.

"Nice to meet you," I said.

Anne, who had also been there, said nothing. Winnie said it for her. "And of course you probably already know Anne," she said. "Anne…"

Anne nodded vaguely and mumbled something that might have been a greeting.

"Irene, why don't you introduce yourself?" asked Riza.

Irene, who I hadn't noticed, was engrossed in a book, leaning against the counter of the kitchen, shook her head. "He already met me."

"Where's everybody else?" asked Roy.

"Helena's helping Daley," replied Winnie, eyeing me. "Rebecca's trying to talk to Lillian. I think Shauna must be with them. Fiona's in her room."

"You're sure of that?"

Margaret flipped her long hair back. "I personally checked on her half an hour ago," she said haughtily. "Can't you just trust me for once, Roy?"

Her voice sounded so fake, I expected Roy to roll his eyes and reply with a sharp comment. But he looked her in the eye and said, "Of course I trust you."

There was a split second of silence, then Winnie said, "So Ed, did Roy show you where you're staying?"

"Oh – yeah," I said. Addressing Riza, I continued, "And, just, thank you so much for letting me move in, I swear it's only temporary, until I-"

She smiled and shook her head. "Stay as long as you like," she said. "I'm sure none of us mind. Besides, I think you'll bring something to this household."

"Like what?" asked Irene, looking up from her book, amused.

"Like masculinity," said Margaret mildly, trying to catch my gaze. I felt my face flush.

Irene laughed. "What, Tom isn't enough for you, Margie?" she asked.

Margaret threw her head back and laughed, a little unnecessarily. "Of course he is," she giggled. "Come here, Tommy."

She spread her arms out to Tom. He buried his face in his father's shoulder. They all laughed, and I found myself laughing as well. It was strange, to me, how easily I had been accepted as one of them.

There was a noise as someone came down the stairs. The sound of two girls talking floated into the kitchen. "Why won't she talk to me?"

"She's probably just scared. Or something. I don't know."

"Right." Rebecca appeared at the doorway, with a girl behind her that looked extraordinarily like Rebecca herself – Shauna, that was her name, wasn't it?

"Oh, hello," Rebecca said when she saw me. "I forgot you were coming today." Suddenly, something in her eyes sparked. "Actually, I think I'll go for a walk."

"I'll come with you," said Shauna and Winnie simultaneously. Winnie stood up. Rebecca grinned devilishly at them.

"I don't think you want to," she said with a biting tone in her voice. "I'm going to see Alphonse."

She walked out the door. Winnie sat back down, disgusted. Shauna whined, "Then what am _I _supposed to do?"

Roy shook his head and turned to me. "Sorry about her. She's just…"

"No, it's okay," I said. "Al talks the same way about her."

He nodded, still looking unsettled. Riza said to Shauna, "What did Lillian say?"

"Nothing," replied Shauna, leaning on the counter next to Irene. "As usual. What are you reading?" she asked Irene. Irene rolled her eyes and passed the book to Shauna, who inspected it briefly, then handed it back.

I realized then that there were at least three girls I had not met yet. "Who's Lillian?" I asked.

Irene put her book down. Shauna shook her head, and Anne hunched her shoulders over even more, if that was possible. Even Margaret glanced at the ground.

"A girl," said Winnie. "Obviously."

"She's relatively new," said Roy. "Only been with us for a couple months. She doesn't talk much."

"Oh… I see," I said. "Is there anybody else I should know about?"

Margaret let out a derisive snort of laughter. Riza said, "Other than Lillian, there's only Daley and Helena you haven't met. Helena's a little quiet, but a very sweet girl. Daley is…"

"Also a very sweet girl," said Roy smoothly, stroking his son's hair absentmindedly. "Let's just say you'll definitely know Daley when you see her." I nodded.

The day passed quickly. It was crazy, how much I seemed to blend into their family. It was like I had always been there. Margaret kept looking at me out of the corner of her eye, and I was happy to see that Winnie tended to insert herself into the conversation whenever Margaret looked at me like that. Anne seemed to stay next to Winnie, wherever she went, and Shauna, Irene and Riza went upstairs at random intervals. Irene seemed to be the oldest by far of all the girls, maybe in her mid-twenties, not much younger than Riza or Roy. Once, a girl with twisted mousy brown hair and dark circles under her eyes came downstairs, only to whisper something to Riza and disappear again. Winnie told me that was Helena.

In the evening, Roy said, "Why don't you get yourself settled in your room? It'll be a while longer until supper."

I nodded. "Alright… sounds good." He smiled at me, and I left. Fortunately, it was easy to remember where my room was located, so I didn't have any trouble. There wasn't much to unpack. I set the photograph of Alfons on the dresser, and hung Al's painting on the dreary wall. All of my clothes I put in the drawers of the dresser. There was a photograph of Noa, Al and I that I had tucked between two shirts to keep the glass from breaking. I took it out and smiled.

"Very nice," came a voice from the doorway. I turned around. Winnie was observing the painting on the wall. "Are those your parents?" she asked.

I nodded. "Oh. Yeah."

She walked up to it and inspected the signature. "Your brother painted this?" she asked, not even looking at me. "It's really good."

"Yeah, it is," I said, waiting for that characteristic surge of pride I felt whenever someone complimented some of Al's work… it didn't come.

She tore her eyes away from the painting and went to stand by me. Looking over my shoulder at the photo in my hands, she asked, "Who's that?"

I knew who she was asking about. "That's Noa," I said. "She was… a friend."

Winnie nodded wisely, as if she understood. "Well," she said heavily. "Supper's ready. Riza told me to tell you that you don't have to come down if you don't want to, but she doesn't mean it." I smiled and set down the photo next to Alfons' on the dresser.

"Alright," I said, and for some reason I allowed her to take my hand and pull me out of the room. She took me down to the first floor, but instead of going into the kitchen, she led me into a larger room, with a table that could seat at least twenty people. Thirteen places were set. There was something strangely foreboding about the room.

Irene was already sitting down, talking quietly to Fiona, who was swaying side to side slightly. Shauna was laying her head on the table, a look of utter boredom on her face. Anne was on the other side of Irene, looking almost exactly the same she had earlier today. "Come on," said Winnie, and I sat down next to her, across from Anne.

"Fiona," came a voice from outside the room. "Come here for a minute." She stood up slightly unsteadily and headed toward the door. Once she was out, I turned to Winnie.

"What's wrong with Fiona?" I asked. She shrugged.

"I don't know," she replied. "She's just strange. For some reason, she can't seem to function on her own. She'll stay here a while."

"In other words," said Shauna dryly. "She's a basket case."

"She's not a basket case," said Irene. "Don't call her that."

"Oh, of course," replied Shauna. "I forgot. Only _you're_ allowed to call her nuts."

"Becca's really began to rub off on you, Shauna."

"God, does everyone in this house always blame Becca?" asked Shauna. "It's driving me crazy!"

"Don't say that," said Anne gently, and then Riza entered the room and put a platter of food on the table.

"Where's Daley and Lillian?" she asked.

"Probably still upstairs," replied Irene smartly, as Margaret and Helena slipped into the room and sat down. Margaret went to sit on my other side, but then Anne made a little noise and Margaret sighed and went to sit next to her. Helena ended up next to me. A minute later, Fiona came into the room, followed closely by Roy and Tom. By then, there was a buzz of conversation going around the table. The weirdest part about it was that I was being included – it was hard to believe that this was my first day there. They had adjusted seamlessly to let me in, and the effect was incredible.

A few moments later, Riza came back, with someone else. The girl had strawberry blonde hair and a large scar across her face. On top of that, she was remarkably far along – her belly was huge and swollen in pregnancy. Roy's words came back to me: _You'll know Daley when you see her._

Everyone continued talking when Daley came in, as if trying to pretend nothing at all had happened, but there was a change in the atmosphere. It was slight, but it was there.

After Daley came a girl with dark brown hair that looked black, and a straight, thin nose. Her eyes were watery and tired-looking. She glanced once around the table, then her eyes widened and I felt them rest on me. She didn't move, even as the conversation at the table continued, even as Winnie told me something that I didn't hear.

And, suddenly, as Lillian whispered something, the whole room went silent.

In a slight British accent, she whispered, "Edward?"

I looked up. Puzzled, I glanced once at Winnie, who shrugged. "Um…yes?"

Lillian frowned. "You don't remember me?"

Everyone was staring at me. I shook my head slowly. "I'm sorry… I don't know who you are."

"But… don't you? We were fifteen the last time we saw each other, don't you remember?"

Something clicked and I understood. The other Edward – the one whose body I had taken over for a short time years ago – it was only rational that he had had a life before his death… he must have known this girl, this Lillian, and now she mistook me for him…

"Oh," I said dimly. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

She looked at me, with something like desperation in her eyes. "But… I know I haven't! You're Edward, aren't you?"

"You're thinking of someone else," I said gently. "It's not me."

I met her gaze, and some feeling, some thought passed between us, and she knew it wasn't me. She nodded and, though none of the others could understand what happened, she sat down, looking slightly less miserable than when she walked in.

The room was still silent, until Shauna asked, "What the hell was that?" and laughter rang out, and conversation began again.

I talked as well, and put on a smile, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Lillian was still looking at me, staring at me, wishing that I was who she thought I was…

A feeling of guilt overwhelmed me that night. There seemed to be an unspoken rule that, before someone from the other side crossed the Gate, their counterpart in this world had to die. So it must have been my fault the other Edward had died. If I hadn't come, maybe Lillian would have made a life with the other Edward. If I had just _died_, instead of-

No. If it was my fault that this Edward died, then that meant it was Al's fault that Alfons was killed.

I closed my eyes. "No," I whispered.

There was no way… it couldn't have been his fault…

Could it?

**--------------------****--------------------**

I can see this chapter so clearly. Every movement and all the settings I can imagine in my mind's eye perfectly.

I'll leave you with that.


	15. There Are Some Wounds

**A/N: Oh goodness I dislike this chapter (but at the same time I can't help but love it). I hope you don't hate it as much as I do. By the way, I've added A Guide to the Girls of _Dead _on my profile, if you can't seem to remember who has red hair and who has green eyes, and so on. I know they all sort of blend together now, but each of them have a distinct role to play in later chapters. Thanks for reading.**

Chapter Fifteen: There Are Some Wounds…

Life was different than the way it had been with Al. With this family – and it was, so obviously, a family – that I was staying with, something was always happening, someone was always talking, there was always something that needed to be discussed or done. With Al, nothing had been necessary; there was nothing that really _had _to be done. It was a striking, but welcome change. One of the worst things about staying there, though, was having to put up with Rebecca's snide hints now and then that she was going "to see Alphonse", which I eventually understood to mean that she was going to sleep with my brother, because of the fact she tended to not come home until the next afternoon. I tried my best to be fine with this – Al's words came back to me, and I told myself I didn't have any right to tell him what he could or could not do. But it was still annoying.

At first, Lillian obviously avoided me; she'd even walk into a room, but if she saw me, she'd turn around and walk right back out. I wanted to talk to her. I needed to talk to her. I think that maybe she knew this too, and the only reason she avoided me was to put off the inevitable.

The chance came in the middle of the next week. It was early morning; usually the girls slept in, except for Irene and Riza, who would always be in the kitchen, making breakfast. Roy would be up by that time too, reading a newspaper before we left and opened the garage. He wore glasses when he read the newspaper. I couldn't recall the Roy from my world ever wearing glasses.

Anyway, I was about to go downstairs, when I noticed that a door at the far end of the corridor was open, and light was spilling out of it. I knew that was Lillian's room. I thought about it for a split second, then strode down the corridor.

Standing in the doorway, I could tell the room was very much like mine. There were no pictures or photographs, though, only a cracked mirror mounted on the wall, which Lillian was looking into, slowly brushing her hair. She saw me in the mirror, but didn't move.

I said, "Lillian-"

"Lily," she said softly. I frowned.

"What?"

"You always used to call me Lily." She set down her brush. When I did not say anything, she shook her hand and touched the mirror in front of her. "This mirror is one of the only things I brought with me." Her finger traced the break. "Do you see this crack?" she asked, so quietly I had to strain to hear her. "I made that crack when this mirror fell out of my hands, more than five years ago. I don't suppose you remember that either."

I shook my head. "I'm not-"

"I know who you're _not_," she said coolly. "I'm just interested in knowing who you _are_."

She turned around and looked at me expectantly.

I asked, "When did you leave?"

She sighed. "Your father told me you were dead. Or, he didn't say _you _were dead – he said Edward was, but then, you're him, aren't you?"  
"My name _is _Edward," I admitted. "But I'm not the man you knew."

She looked confused. "Are you claiming to be someone else? But you look… just like him! I don't understand."

"I'm sorry," I said. "The Edward you knew is dead."

She looked away. I realized there were tears in her eyes.

"If you… are him," she said finally, refusing to look me in the eye. "If you have to pretend you're not the same person for some reason that you can't tell me, then I understand. Even if you were him, at one time, and now can't remember… I still believe there is at least some part of him left in you… so I feel… justified… in saying this."

She looked up, and although her eyes no longer looked wet, there was something about her that conveyed a sort of sadness that nothing could express; such a deep sadness that could not be put into words; tears just weren't enough.

If I hadn't been looking as her lips as she said it, I would not have known what she said. The second after she did, she shook her head and closed the door in my face. I stood there for a few moments, unable to move.

The rest of the day, at the garage, and afterwards, I couldn't concentrate. All I could think about was Lillian's face as she mouthed the three words I had never expected to hear from anyone ever again.

_"I love you."_

The guilt I had felt earlier seemed to have disappeared. Because, I realized, in all essence, I _was_ the other Edward. We were the same person, only from different worlds.

Or maybe we weren't. It was something I couldn't quite decide. But I guess it boils down to this:

What makes an individual?

Is it just their unique genetic coding? Is it just that they were born with a specific hair and eyes and looks and fingerprints? If you could make a clone of someone, would that clone be the exact same person? Or does it depend on the circumstances?

Could there be two people who were, genetically, completely the same, but, when faced with the same situation, reacted differently? How could that be? Inside, they're just the same person, aren't they?

I suppose being raised differently could have something to do with it. But the other Edward, he must have been raised by the counterpart of my father, and the counterpart of my mother… and when my father crossed the Gate, he replaced the counterpart of himself…

So, technically, we were the same person.

But that means that no one in existence is unique, or individual. Since there are always counterparts for all of us, that means there is always someone else who is exactly like us. So, if one person chooses something, is the counterpart of that person destined to choose the same path? But wouldn't that eliminate the concept of free will, depending on who got to choose first? Or, since they're the same person…

I shook my head, trying not to think. It was all just too confusing. But the same thoughts kept coming back, again and again sneaking into my mind when I least expected it.

"Ed," said Riza one evening, a day after my talk with Lillian. Riza was smiling slightly.

"Yes?" I replied.

She paused and looked at me. "Did you talk to Lillian?"

I was taken aback. "Well…yes. How did you know?"

She smiled, looking thoughtfully at me. "Lillian hasn't told us anything since we picked her off the street. Last night, she talked to Anne for a long time… your name seemed to come up quite a lot."

I shrugged. "She thinks-"

"Thank you," said Riza. "Lillian really needed that from you."

She was still looking at me, with an odd look on her face.

"Is there something else?" I asked.

"Usually I can understand people pretty well," she said slowly. "But I have no idea how you managed to get Lillian to talk. I tried everything in the book, and then some, but that girl refused to talk to me… and then you're here for a _week _and she's spilling her secrets with no hesitation… why is that?"

"I don't know," I said. "She genuinely thought I was someone else."

"Anne told me that part," replied Riza. "Anyway, Ed, that's all. I'm very grateful, and I think I speak for myself and the rest of the house as well when I say please stay with us as long as you like. We want you here."

I smiled at her. Suddenly, soft music floated into the room. It sounded like a piano. I listened to it for a moment, transfixed. I saw Riza stand up straight.

"Oh, _God_," murmured Riza, also spellbound by the music. I looked at her. "Winnie hasn't played since Mike died."

She jerked her head toward the door, saying, _Go on_. I smiled at her and went to the living room, where Winnie was sitting at a piano, moving her fingers over the keys smoothly, like it was second nature to her. Anne and Lillian were sitting next to each other on an old moth-eaten couch. Lillian smiled when she saw me. Anne just looked at the ground. Irene was sitting on an armchair, watching Fiona out of the corner of eye. Fiona was sitting on the floor, a ball of yarn and two knitting needles in her hands. She was trying to figure out how to work them. She wasn't doing so well. Rebecca, who wasn't with Al, for once, was chatting quietly with Shauna, who was nodding enthusiastically at everything she was saying. Margaret, who was listening to Rebecca as well, was shaking her head, as if saying, _this is ridiculous._

The music stopped. Winnie asked, "Do you play?"

I shook my head, looking back at her. "Oh, no."

She grinned. "I could teach you."

"I don't think-"

"Come on. Sit down."

About to protest, I silenced myself and sat down.

"Let's start with some simple chords…"

I don't think I paid much attention to what Winnie told me that day. I was savoring the feeling of sitting so close to her, of her hands arranging mine on the keys. She talked quietly, since I was so near, and I forgot everything around me, and nothing else existed in the world, except for the piano, Winnie, and me.

The music was fractured and bumpy, but it was there, despite the pauses when Winnie would instruct me on what to do. The effect was mesmerizing.

What felt like only minutes later, Winnie yawned and said, "It's late."

"What? No it's not," I said, having not quite recovered yet from being so close to her.

She laughed. "It's been hours, Ed."

I frowned and glanced around the room. I hadn't noticed everyone else had left.

"We should be getting to bed," said Winnie. I nodded vaguely.

"Oh. Yes, I suppose so."

There was silence for a second as I looked around the room. Then I turned back to her. She met my gaze, and there was a small sly look in her eyes.

Before I could tell what was happening, her lips were on mine, and my heart was pumping, and I could hear my blood in my ears as her arms snaked around my body and my arms, acting out of their own accord, slipped around her waist and then we were on the stairs, stumbling up to the second story, all the while trying to stay locked at the lips. Somehow we ended up in my room; she managed to get the door closed behind us, I don't know how, it was like I was blind to everything except her face, it was like I couldn't feel anything except her body… It was a long while until we were asleep that night.

Hours later, I felt a hand holding mine. I smiled and squeezed the hand. A voice whispered in my ear.

"What about me?" whispered Noa.

I awoke with a start. Winnie lifted her head tiredly. "What is it?" she mumbled.

I stared at the ceiling, my heart pumping even faster than it had been the night before. "Nothing," I replied.

There was a silence between us for a moment. A tense silence, crackling with unseen energy. Then, in a low voice, she said softly, "Tell me about that girl. The one in the photograph."

I turned away so I didn't have to face her. "No," I said.

She put her arms around me and laid her head on my shoulder. "Why not?"

Somehow, it was getting harder to breathe. I found myself shaking.

"Ed?" she muttered. "Why not?"

"Because it hurts too much," I said quickly, then closed my eyes, trying to close out all the pain. Despite being the shortest dream I had had in a long while, somehow that one hurt most of all.

She was silent, but I could practically hear her thinking about me. I shut my eyes tighter, but the images in my head didn't go away.

Winnie held me. "Are you sure you don't want to talk?"

"No," I said. "I'm tired. I want to go to sleep."

She loosened her arms a little. "Alright," she said. She paused, then said, "I love you, Ed."

I didn't reply.

The next morning was a Saturday, completing my first week there. It was late morning when I woke up. Winnie wasn't there.

I sat up and buried my face in my hands. I couldn't believe Winnie said that. Just a week ago, I had never expected to hear the words _I love you_ from a woman ever again, and now I had been told it twice – albeit in completely different circumstances…

I didn't really understand why I did what I did. I had always just assumed that I was attracted to her because she was Winry's counterpart in this world. Somewhere inside of me, I still couldn't decide if that was true or not.

When I went downstairs, Winnie was alone in the kitchen. "Hey," I said to her. She smiled stunningly.

"Glad to see you're finally awake."

"Sorry," I said sarcastically, pouring some tea. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Oh really?" she asked, grinning. "And why was that?"

I kissed her. "You tell me."

She laughed. "Ha-ha, very funny." She paused. "You know I think Becca guessed why you took so long to get up today."

"Well, it is right up her alley," I replied. "Besides, it doesn't matter, as long as it stays her _guess._" Winnie looked at me guiltily. "You told her?"

"She asked!"

I laughed this time. "It's no problem. Unless… would Roy be okay with…" I trailed off.

She snorted. "Are you kidding me? He's been trying to make you and I happen since he _met you_."

I smiled. Winnie and I were going to join the others in the living room, but when we were in the hall, there was a loud knock at the door. Winnie started to get it, but Rebecca flew past her and threw the door open. "Hi Al," she said breathlessly.

My brother stood in the doorway. I glanced at Winnie, then went to stand behind Rebecca. "Hello, Al," I said.

"Oh, hello," he replied, avoiding my gaze. "Um, how are you?"

"I'm doing great," I said, nodding. "What about you?"

"Oh, fine, thank you." There was something oddly formal about his voice.

Becca said, "Well, come on Al, we've got to go!"

"Yes, yeah, of course… well, bye, Ed." The door slammed in my face. I stood there for a second, rooted to the spot.

"C'mon," came Winnie's voice, and she tugged on my arm slightly. I shook my head and let her pull me into the living room.

"Where did Rebecca go?" asked Roy, who had been talking to Riza.

"Alphonse was at the door," replied Winnie, rolling her eyes. I was suddenly very aware of her hand holding mine.

"I see," replied Roy, and there was some strange hint of a smile on his face. The conversation in the room resumed as usual, with Shauna looking a little jaded.

Winnie pulled me over to where Anne was sitting with Fiona and Lillian. "Good morning," I said to all of them. Anne mumbled something, Lillian replied with a brisk, "Good morning!" and Fiona hummed a random tune.

Winnie said, "Anne, did you know that Ed's brother is also an artist? He paints." Anne nodded but stayed silent. "Anne draws, but most with charcoal," Winnie told me. "She's really very good."

"Oh, yeah, Al used to use charcoal all the time," I said, getting the hint. "He still draws a lot with it. But mainly he does just stick to painting."

Even as I talked, I could see Anne looking up, just the tiniest bit. Winnie continued.

"Ed has a painting in his room that his brother made. I'm sure he'd love to show it to you sometime."

"Of course," I said. "And I'd like to see some of your work sometime too."

"Now that is a great idea!" said Winnie. "Anne, why don't you show Ed some of your drawings?"

Anne's face was very red. "Oh – I don't know – they're really not any good – I don't think-"

"Alright," said Winnie smoothly. "Another time, then."

Lillian said, "Do you know, I used to know this girl from Liverpool who was so handy with a pen…"

And just like that, Anne seemed to relax a little around me. I could sense improvement on the air.

That evening, Shauna came down to the living room, after being upstairs for nearly an hour and announced, "Helena won't come out of her room. Again."

"Well leave her alone then," said Riza. "I wouldn't open my door either if you were on the other side of it."

Shauna made a face at Riza as the rest of us laughed. "I'm serious. She's been in there since noon. I think she's crying."

Irene got up. "I'll go see what I can do."

Half an hour later, Irene came back empty-handed. "She won't unlock the door," she said. "She wouldn't listen to anything I had to say."

Lillian said, "Ed should talk to her."

Everyone looked at me. "That's not a bad idea," said Roy thoughtfully. "She might talk to you."

"Why would she talk to me?" I asked. "She barely knows me."

"Exactly," said Shauna observantly. "I think you should go up there."

"What? That's crazy," I said, but Winnie pulled me up by the hand and led me upstairs. From the sound of it, Helena was crying her eyes out. "Helena," I called. "Why don't you open the door?"

She sobbed even louder.

"Please?" I asked loudly. No comprehensible reply. "Helena, please, I can help… if you don't open this door, I'll knock it down."

Winnie held onto my arm. "Ed, is that the best way to-"

"One," I said loudly. There was a sound of movement from the room. "Two," I said. "Thr-"

The door opened. A mousy looking girl with dark eyes stood there. She was very short; hear head only came up to about halfway on my chest.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Go away," she said. She tried to close the door, but I stopped her.

"Stop it," I replied, edging my way into the room. "You need to calm down."

"I'm calm," she said blandly. "Now go away."

I managed to get myself into the room. She stood at the closed door. There was nothing decorating the walls or the dresser. There was a small window she had pulled the curtains on.

"Why were you crying?" I asked, examining the window. She didn't say anything. I turned back to face her. Her arms were folded, and she was staring at me stoutly. "Can you tell me?" I asked.

She looked long and hard at me. Finally, she told me, "You know, I do this a lot."

"Do what?"

"Board myself up in my room, crying. After a while, everyone just sort of leaves me alone. You're the only one who's ever actually gotten in."

"That's a good thing, right?" The smile I was hoping for didn't come. I continued, "Why were you crying? What happened?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she said curtly. Her eyes traveled down my arms and rested on my hands. My right hand.

"Oh," I replied dimly. In this light, the arm was so obviously prosthetic. For a moment, I wanted to put my hand behind my back and shake it off, but instead, I held it up to the light. "It's kind of scary, isn't it?" I asked.

"I've seen worse." There was a short silence.

Then, I said, "What's wrong? You don't sound to me like the type of person they all think you are… why were you crying?"

Nothing, for a second. Then she reached out and took my arm. I couldn't feel it as her real, warm fingers trailed across my cold, fake ones.

"Have you ever been to Chicago?" Without waiting for a reply, she continued, "No, of course you haven't. I lived there with my family before here. My family was killed there."

She was still holding my hand. I said, "I'm sorry."

"Dear God, don't be," she told me nonchalantly. "I can tell you've suffered through something just as bad."

"How do you know that?" She pointed at my arm. I decided not to push that point. "Are you alright?"

She looked at me oddly. "Do I look alright?" she said.

"Not at all," I replied. "Why were you crying?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"Helena, please...you can't stay quiet forever."

"Why not?"

"What's wrong?"

"I don't even know you. Why should I tell you anything?" she demanded.

I looked her squarely in the eye. "Please," I said quietly. "Even if it hurts, you need to talk to someone. I can help."

"No you can't," she said, but I could see her slipping. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me. Talk to me."

"I don't want to!"

"You can't keep pretending everything is okay," I said. She looked at me like I was crazy.

"What are you – how can – why do you even care?"

I looked at her seriously. "I guess I'm part of this family now."

For what felt like a long time, there was silence, and neither of us moved. Then she turned around, opened a drawer of the dresser, rifled around in it, and took something out.

"I think you should have this," she muttered, pressing the something into my hands. "So I don't have to use it."

I looked at the thing in my hands. It was a gun. I looked back up at her.

"I believe in heaven," she said. "I want to go to heaven. But sometimes I also want to… sometimes I want to point that at my head and pull the trigger. But then… then I wouldn't go to heaven, would I?"

She shook her head and wiped her eyes. "Get out of here."

"But you need to talk-"

"Later. Go."

I felt like it was time to leave. Nodding, I slowly slipped out of the room. Winnie was leaning against the wall on the other side of the hall, something halfway between bitterness and amusement in her eyes.

"_Even if it hurts, you need to talk to someone_," she said, parroting my words to Helena. She shook her head. "Hypocrite."

As she walked away, I began to say, "That's different-"

But even has she waved her hand and disappeared downstairs, I started to think that maybe it wasn't so different after all.

**--------------------****--------------------**

Gah I hate it. Tell me what you think.

(Helena sucks. I hate her. Lillian rocks, and you know it.)


	16. Time Can't Heal

Chapter Sixteen: …Time Can't Heal

A few days went by. I was happy to have settled in so well with this new family. I tried to stay maybe a little more distant from Winnie than usual, for fear of dreaming of Noa again, but other than that, everything was normal. I saw Al again a few more times. It was so weird, like we didn't even know each other.

After a while, one day at the garage, Roy paused in his work and looked at me. Feeling his gaze on the back of my neck, I turned around.

There was an amused sort of smile on his lips. "Yes?" I asked.

"You know," he said slowly. "My wife thinks you've got some magic in you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Magic?"

"She figures, what else would make Lillian _and _Helena talk to you? You've got to be some sort of magician. There's no other explanation." There was a heavy sarcastic note in his voice.

"And you think…"

He grinned. "I think the girls were so dazzled by your sudden presence that they let their guard down. I mean, don't get me wrong, I am _ecstatic _about what you did for them… but I don't quite think you're magic."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, wiping my hands on a rag. "But you have to admit, I'm pretty good."

He chuckled. "Not _that_ good, kid." He paused, as if unsure if he should say something or not. Finally, he continued. "I think you should talk to Becca."

"Isn't two enough?" I asked, grinning.

"I'm serious," he said. "She's…different. Let's see what you can do with her."

"But… no, not Rebecca. That's just, not right."

"Not right? Why?"

I waved my hand. "I don't know… it's just… I don't know, Rebecca seems like my brother's territory, you know?"

Roy laughed. "Territory?"

"You know what I mean."

He nodded, still looking amused. "Really, though. If you're such a miracle worker, I would be interested to see what happens with you and Becca."

I grinned and shook my head. "Fine, fine, but you asked for it."

There was a sly grin on his face as he ducked back into the car and got back to work. I shrugged it off. He was just playing a joke on me, I knew it – he had probably already talked to Rebecca and asked her to outsmart me. But I could deal with her.

Somewhere, buried deep in my subconscious, I think I knew why I was trying so hard to help these girls. Mostly, I think it was because, if I could hear the stories of these girls, if I could show myself how worse off I could have been, then my troubles and my past seemed to be less bad than they actually were. I could compare myself to these girls, and think about what could have happened, and what didn't. I could tell myself how fortunate I was.

I don't think it worked, telling myself that. But it was better than just wallowing in my misery, so I went with it. And I was proud of myself for it – I had done some good, I had become someone's confidant…I was happy about it.

So maybe I was just a little bit cocky when I lingered in the kitchen a few moments to talk to Rebecca. She was washing some dishes, her short hair hanging just above her shoulders. It was nighttime, and almost everyone else was asleep. Winnie had left to go to bed a while ago, kissing me on the cheek and whispering, "Good luck."

I stood in the doorway. Rebecca was quiet as she worked. Her breathing was steady and had a sort of calming feel to it. Very strange.

I said, "Rebecca."

She nearly dropped a plate in fright. "Oh, sorry," she said, hastily setting it down on the counter. "You surprised me."

I smiled at her. She looked me in the face for a moment, then rolled her eyes and went back to cleaning the dishes.

"I would have thought you were in bed," she said, without even looking at me, "with Winnie."

Ignoring the derisive nature of her comment, I replied, "What's your story? I know Winnie's, Helena's, Lillian's… but not yours. I think I deserve to know, seeing that-"

She whipped around. "You don't _deserve _anything," she said scathingly. "I know what you are, _Edward._"

I raised an eyebrow. "And what may that be?"

"A self-righteous, arrogant son of a bitch with a god complex," she told me matter-of-factly, sounding rather proud of choice of words.

"How long did it take you to come up with that one?" I asked, amused.

She apparently didn't hear the amusement in my voice. "Don't talk to me like that, like I'm a child."

The words seemed familiar. "What-"

"Your brother didn't tell me anything I didn't know already."

She caught me off guard. My eyebrows shot up and I immediately asked sharply, "What do you mean?"

Rebecca leered at me. "I forgot, Alphonse doesn't tell _you _much anymore, does he?"

"What are you talking about?"

"He told me the truth about you. How foolish you are, how ignorant you are, how absolutely _smothering _you are. I'm sure he made you out to be better than you actually are." She pretended to yawn. "It was sort of irritating at first. But the more he told me, the more I seemed to see it in you, and now I realize he was completely right. You're _selfish_, you don't care about anyone else, as long as you reach your goal – 'the ends justify the means', he said, was your motto. At first I thought he was just angry at you, but now I know for sure that you are nothing but a complete-"

"Shut up."

She looked at me, an eyebrow raised. "What, you don't want to hear it? The truth is always-"

"Al never would have said those things about me."

My fists were clenched, and I was staring stonily at the floor. A cold kind of fury was pumping through my veins, to hear this girl talk about what Al said, as if she had _any idea_…

"You're not much used to having other people in your brother's life, are you? Poor you."

Part of me, a very dominant part of me, wanted to punch her in the face. But I restrained myself – she was just trying to provoke me, for some strange, stupid reason.

"Goodnight, Rebecca," I said, turning away.

"Oh yes, go running back to Winnie, I'm sure she'll understand," said Rebecca sarcastically, despite the fact that I was trying not to listen. "Alphonse told me the real reason you like her."

I stopped and turned around. "How much do you know?" I asked seriously.

She grinned at me. "Everything."

Then, she put the last dish away and brushed by me on her way out. I stood there, in shock for a few moments, wondering what Al had told her. He couldn't have actually told her everything – she wouldn't have believed it. Noa was the only one in this world who would ever believe it, and that was because she saw it, by just touching me.

I sat down at the table and rested my head on my arms. The ache of missing Noa was partly filled by knowing I had Winnie, but then, that made me feel guilty all over again. I felt like a traitor. Not just to Noa, but to Winnie as well, because I couldn't manage to forget Noa, no matter how close to Winnie I got. And I felt traitor to my brother, because of something I know I did, but I didn't know what it was yet. I always thought I had treated Al reasonably well, as a brother should; I didn't know why he was saying all this about me. I felt like I betrayed him, I felt like he betrayed me.

The fury I had felt earlier sparked again, and I ground my teeth. I needed to talk to Al, no, I needed to _yell _at Al, because why didn't he realize that this was all his fault, and if it were up to me, we wouldn't be separated at all, we wouldn't even be in America, we'd be with Noa, and everything would be alright…

I stood up and started towards the door. But even as I reached out the grip the doorknob, someone put a hand on my back. I stopped.

"Where are you going?"

The voice was soft, and the whisper could have been Noa's. I turned around, and it wasn't Noa, but Winnie who was standing there, looking at me with concern. She looked so much like Winry. I wanted to hug her, I wanted to tell her everything that was wrong, I wanted to trust her and I wanted her to be my friend.

Instead, I just kissed her.

She stroked my hair gently. "It's okay," she murmured. "You're alright."

I kissed her again. Then, without making any noise, I buried my face in her shoulder. I didn't want to think of anything.

Winnie smelled like clean soap and the dried flowers she kept in her room. Winry always smelled like oil.

I closed my eyes, embarrassed to be comparing the two. "Let's go to bed," she said, stroking my cheek. I could only nod.

There was no way I was going to sleep, because I knew that, if I did, then I would have dreams that I didn't want to think about. Instead, I just laid in the dark, staring at the ceiling, beating back all the pain, trying to focus on other things.

The next morning, I was tired and there were dark, heavy bags under my eyes, but it was better than having more visions of the past.

At breakfast, Roy caught my eye, then asked Rebecca, "So how did you sleep?"

"Not so well," she answered coolly.

"Why do you think that was?" asked Roy, grinning amiably.

"I think you know."

Roy raised an eyebrow. The room seemed to have emptied, strangely. Apart from Roy, Rebecca and I, there was only Winnie and Riza, who both exchanged looks.

"I don't believe I do," said Roy. "Would you care to explain?"

She looked icily at him. Then her eyes darted my way. I suddenly became very interested in my spoon.

"Becca, would you care to explain?" he repeated, slower this time, as if warning her.

"They all think you're so special, don't they, Edward?" she asked harshly. "They think you have some sort of magic touch." She stood up and looked at Roy. "He doesn't."

Riza and Roy looked at each other once as Rebecca left the room, then followed her out. Winnie sat down in the seat Rebecca had just vacated. "Ignore her," she told me sincerely, taking my hand. "You were just trying to help."

After a few more minutes, though, it became clear that Rebecca could not be ignored. She wasn't exactly shouting, but she was raising her voice just enough so that everyone could hear her.

Winnie began to play the piano, but Rebecca raised her voice, as if not to be outdone. Everyone seemed rather good at blocking her out, though – conversation resumed as usual, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for Anne, who seemed jittery and uncomfortable. I remembered something Roy had told me about her. _She hates it when people argue._

And then, Rebecca shouted something that made all the color drain from Winnie's face.

"I'm sorry," Rebecca yelled. "But I can't help but remember the _last _one you tried to get me to talk to!"

Winnie picked at the side of the sofa, but I could tell she was straining to hear every word. "Completely different circumstances!" came Roy's voice, not as loud, but just as strong. "Don't talk about that."

"Why not?" replied Rebecca's voice. "Am I the only one in this house who has come to terms with it? You all – all of you just pretend it never happened, you pretend you're okay with the fact that there's _someone else _in his room now, but, oh, oh _God _I've seen the looks on your faces, and dammit, Roy, here's the truth: Michael is dead! Dead and buried! And you think – you think you have the _right_-"

"As long as you live under this roof," came Roy's voice, so quiet I had to strain my ears to hear it, "then you live by my rules."

"That's great!" she said, and her voice was quieter, but more derisive. "That's fantastic! Gives me a reason to finally get the _hell _out of this place!"

Rebecca stalked past the door of the room we were in. After a few minutes, she passed again, with a small pack in her hands.

"Where are you going to go?" asked Roy, and this time their voices were coming from the front hall.

"Alphonse's. I may not have a family with him yet but it's damn well bound to be better than here," said Rebecca calmly. "Goodbye."

The door opened and closed. There was silence in the house. Irene got up to talk to Riza. Shauna and Margaret exchanged dark looks. Winnie was clutching my hand. I put my arms around her.

The day was quiet, with a sort of tense mood. Despite the fact that Rebecca had, at one time, irritated everyone, the realization that she had actually left, maybe for good, was bizarre.

And to think that she was going to live with _Al…_

That evening, Riza caught my attention. "Roy's emptying Rebecca's room – so it can be the nursery, when Daley's baby gets here. Do you think you could go and help him?"

I nodded. "Alright." Riza stayed with Winnie.

Roy was in Rebecca's room. The walls there were a pale yellow color, and there were three photographs on them – the first one was of two girls who both looked very much like Rebecca, only they looked to be about ten years old, and the second was one of Winnie, Rebecca, Riza, Irene, Margaret, Shauna, and three or four other girls I didn't know. There was also a baby in Riza's arms. The third photo was of Rebecca and another boy. Neither of them could have been older than sixteen. The boy looked a lot like Winnie, and was smiling slightly, arm-in-arm with Rebecca. I realized the boy was Michael.

"They look so alike, don't they?" I looked around to see Roy, smiling painfully at me. "Winnie and Michael, I mean. Everyone thought they were twins."

I didn't know what to say. "Oh…yes…"

He looked at the photograph for a few more seconds, then shook his head, sighed, and took the photo off the wall. He took all three of them off, and handed them to me. "See if Winnie wants that one," he told me, pointing out the one with Michael in it. "And give the rest to Riza, please."

I nodded and left the room, the photographs in my arms. Winnie took the first one, and Riza took the rest off of me. I went back to the room.

It seemed like Roy had left, but there were several boxes that he had just begun taking out of the closet, and sorting through. I pushed them to the side, and then one small wooden box caught my eye. I picked it up. It was completely plain, and it looked like the lock keeping it closed had just broken. That was probably why Roy had left the room.

I went to put it back down, but it slipped out of my hands and tumbled open onto the floor. Hurriedly, I knelt down to pick it up, then froze in astonishment.

Several dull medals had fallen out of the box. Military medals.

'COLONEL ROY MUSTANG' said every one.

I stared at them disbelievingly. I knew that he had been in the last war, but I thought… well, whatever I thought, I hadn't expected this.

The floorboards creaked outside the door and I turned around. Roy stood in the doorway, looking surprised at first, then his expression turned grim.

There were so many things I felt like I needed to say. I wanted to explain, and I wanted to ask him why he never told me, but all I could force out was a weak, "Colonel?"

"That was a long time ago," he muttered, scooping up the medals and shoving them back in the box, then putting a new lock on the box and putting the key in his pocket.

"Barely ten years!"

He threw the box into another larger box, a little too aggressively. "I was a younger man then," he snapped. "Thought I could rule the world if I earned enough medals…"

"But… _Colonel…_"

"What of it?" he asked, and I realized he was challenging me, daring me to say something.

I decided to tell him the truth… or as much of it that I could anyway. In slow, halting speech, I said, "I…I once knew someone who…who you remind me of…and he was…high-ranking… in the military, I mean."

Roy looked at me. "Well it sure as hell wasn't me," he told me gruffly. "Because if you had known me then, you'd have hightailed it out of here a long time ago."

"People do foolish thing in times of war," I said sagely.

He smiled bitterly. "Tell me about it."

He took the larger box that had the case with all the medals in it, and left the room. I stared after him for a few minutes, then shook my head, and tried to get back to work.

Roy had an old-fashioned cradle that we put in the room. Tom almost cried when we moved it, but Riza just told him, "You're too big for that old thing anyway, Tommy."

Roy didn't say much. He seemed troubled that I had found the medals. He avoided me, seemed shameful in front of me – and I didn't understand why. There was nothing wrong with serving and defending your country. If anything, he should have been proud.

Before night fell, I found Roy in Rebecca's old room again. He was smoothing the sides of the cradle, silently, slowly.

I said, "There's no reason to be ashamed of what you did. It was for an honorable cause."

He didn't even look up. "You weren't there. You…you can't understand."

The way he spoke – his expression, of pain and disgust – it was so powerful…

I began to think that what I went through wasn't that bad, after all.

**--------------------****--------------------**

Another song! "Forget It" by Breaking Benjamin IS AL'S SONG. Go look it up. If it's not clear yet how it's his song, hopefully it will be in future chapters, and if you still don't get it, gosh darnit I'll break it down for you.

Review, please, and tell me if this chapter made any sense.

**I've updated the Author's Note in my profile, for chapters 15 and 16. Go check it out, if you're interested. Thanks a lot!**


	17. Tears In the Rain

Chapter Seventeen: Tears in the Rain

It was strange, at first. Rebecca's absence didn't seem to affect us much, except for Shauna, who looked oddly lost.

Surprisingly, Roy seemed actually happy that Rebecca had left. When I asked him about it, he told me that all the girls who find a home here grow up and leave eventually. If one leaves earlier than expected – Rebecca, in this case – then, he said, the best thing you can do for them is wish them well.

That made perfect sense, but I sort of expected Roy to be more unhappy that she had left. Besides, it's not like she'd gone in the best of circumstances.

To which Roy replied: "Well, Ed, I don't think that matters. I think, I'm not sure, but I _think _that she's actually serious about your brother. And from what I know about him, he's serious about her too. This could turn out very, very well."

"Or it could turn out very, very badly."

He shrugged. "You'll learn eventually that it's impossible to do well when you're a pessimist."

As he walked away I called, "I'm not a pessimist!"

He laughed.

Winnie also seemed ill at ease with Rebecca being gone. She was edgy, and she didn't seem comfortable any more with me holding my hand, or touching her at all. Roy had told me once that Winnie and Rebecca were like sisters, so I tried to understand this as best I could. Winnie probably felt like she lost Rebecca, and after Michael, that was a big deal to her.

Winnie began going to bed earlier, without me – she'd never sleep in my room anymore, either. I tried to get to know the other girls better.

Lillian talked to me a lot. Mostly about her family and her journey to America, and then sometimes about Winnie and about Rebecca. Helena would listen to my long conversation with Lillian, saying a comment now and then, but mostly staying silent. Margaret tried to get my attention by brushing past me, or trailing her fingers across my hand just a little too long, but after failing a few times, she took to telling me about the other girls, no matter if they wanted me to know or not.

She told me that Daley had stumbled upon the house in the beginning of her pregnancy – she had been nearly starving, which, Margaret said, was not good at all for the baby. Daley was still building up her strength – after all, she would need all she had to deliver the baby. She told me Shauna had been a battered ten-year-old child when Roy found her hiding in the garage. In the three years since then, she had changed a lot. At first, she was quiet, completely silent – then, looking a little resentful, Margaret said Shauna had followed Margaret around for about a year, then she became bored and latched onto, and begun, the way Margaret put it, worshipping Rebecca.

Fiona's story was one of the most interesting. She was the eldest daughter of a wealthy family, but had some sort of brain defect; it was unclear exactly what it was. She was supposed to have been transferred to a mental hospital quietly, but, before her she was sent there, she ran away. Margaret said Irene found her, on the streets. She had assumed at first that Fiona was a drunk, because of her strange way of acting, but later she realized whatever was causing the craziness was out of Fiona's control. Fiona's family had never reported that their daughter was missing.

Margaret said she didn't know that much about Anne, except that Winnie had said once that Anne had lived with an abusive mother before Winnie picked her up.

"But she didn't even have any bruises or scars when she spent her first night here," said Margaret matter-of-factly. "And that doesn't make sense; all of us had bruises."

Mostly, though, Margaret talked about herself.

"Oh, of course, my story is _tragic_," she said, grinning, then launched into a long narrative of her life's story. According to her, she had grown up with three older brothers who constantly beat her. After taking this for nine years straight, she ran away from the home, where, if I was to believe her, she was raped at least six times, and four times she narrowly escaped from being murdered. It was plausible up until the point when she began to describe the incident when she was eleven years old that she had taken out a whole police force of men intent on making her their personal slave.

I began to wonder whether or not I could trust her about the stories of the others. Quickly, though, I decided to believe her, because she seemed like the type of person who would strive to get any information on anyone else, and pass it along to the best of her ability. When it came to her, however, whatever she deemed too personal she extrapolated on, and made it worse that it really was. It was her interpretation of privacy.

I thought, _this girl would make a good reporter._

And then I asked, "Margaret, do you know anything about Rebecca's past? Or should I ask Winnie?"

Something glinted in Margaret's eyes, and she leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Do I know anything about Rebecca, oh please, what do you take me for, a complete idiot?" She didn't wait for me to answer. "Yes, Ed, I know all about precious little Becca." She grinned at me. "You've met her stepfather, haven't you? His name's Norm, her mother married the man when Becca was little, and – oh, you should meet her mother, Ed, it's unbelievable that she and Becca are related, her mother's this tiny little woman who still believes in that old _a woman's place is in the kitchen_ rule – well, so, Becca's stepfather is brainless, I'm sure you already knew that, and he wasn't too kind, but he wasn't that bad, either. As far as I know, Becca and her sister never got more than a few bruises and a bloody nose from him, and-"

"Sister?" I asked, interrupting her. "Rebecca has a sister?"

Margaret smiled faux-guiltily and put a hand to her lips. "Oops. Didn't mean to tell you that." I tried not to roll my eyes. She continued. "Yes, Becca has a sister. Or maybe I should say _had_. See, none of us know what happened to her. Rachel– that was her name, by the way, Rachel – Rebecca and Rachel, has a sort of ring to it, doesn't it? Anyway, so Winnie found both Becca and Rachel asleep somewhere on the streets, Winnie found a lot of the girls, and brought them in, they were about Shauna's age, I think, maybe younger, but it was maybe, I don't know, a month or two, and then Rachel just _left_, it was the strangest thing, we just woke up the next morning and she was gone. She left a note, but Becca never let anyone else read it, and so we didn't ask her again or anything, because we all knew she needed time to heal. Becca ran away again and again, but we always found her, or she came back, or, you know, she ended up in jail a few times. Nobody agrees with me, but personally I think that she was looking for Rachel. I mean, if your brother suddenly decided to just take off and you didn't know where he was, you would go after him, right? Of course you would. But no one ever listens to my theories."

This was believable, too. Well, believable enough, anyway.

Margaret leaned back and said, "Look how late it is, I should have been in bed a while ago. Well, goodnight Ed."

She got up and left, to go to her room. I sat there for just a moment, trying to digest what I had just heard. Becca had had a sister, just like Winnie had had a brother. I didn't even know.

I admit, my first thought was,_ I wonder if Al knows?_ Then, slightly ashamed, I shook my head, and headed to my room.

I couldn't remember the dream I had, the next morning, but I woke up with clammy palms and a pounding headache. Ignoring it, I got up, got dressed, and headed downstairs.

Roy and Riza were in the kitchen, Riza hurriedly telling something to Winnie, and Roy cleaning something up. When he saw me, he said, "Ed, Riza and I have to leave for a few hours, is that okay?"

"Fine by me," I said, yawning. He nodded, and, a few minutes later, he and his wife were out the door. Only Irene and Winnie were downstairs, but, after lingering for a while, Winnie went back upstairs, to her room. I wanted to talk to her. But I didn't know what I would say.

Irene was in the living room, sitting at the piano, with Tom Mustang, Roy and Riza's son, next to her. He was hitting the keys at random, laughing with delight. Irene was looking at him with a soft look in her eye, and when she put her arm around him, she looked complete… she looked like such a natural mother.

When Irene saw me, she said, "Go wake up Margaret," to Tom, who jumped off the piano bench and ran past me, up the stairs.

I smiled after him. "Good kid," I said.

Irene stifled a laugh. "Yes, a very good boy," she said. There was something different in her eye, wistful, painful.

Suddenly, she said, "I have a daughter." I looked at her. A bitter smile appeared on her face. "Oh yes. I was married before I came here. I'm the oldest one who hasn't left this place yet, only a little younger than Riza, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Yeah," I said. "I had noticed."

She let out a little grunt of laughter. "Well. He, my husband, treated our daughter reasonably well. But… I don't know. After a while, he got tired of me, or something. He made me leave. I would have started over, gotten a job, a home of my own… but I can't."

She raised her right arm, shaking down her sleeve a little, and I saw that her arm was twisted and withered on that side. She was so adept at covering it up, I hadn't noticed until now, when she pointed it out.

"Factory accident," she said simply, before I could ask. "The machines… well, it was always dangerous. Anyway. My daughter."

She paused for a second, then said softly, "Her name was Nina."

All the blood in my body seemed to freeze at the mention of that name, and I stared at her, my eyes wide. She didn't seem to notice. "Irene… what was your husband's name?"

She looked at me, finally recognizing my horror. "Tucker," she said shortly, confirming my worst fears. "Shou Tucker."

I stood there, absolutely still for a moment, then turned and got a piece of paper and a pen. "His address," I said, sick to my stomach. "Give me your husband's address."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously. "Do you know him?"

I hesitated. "Yes," I said. "I… knew him."

For a few more seconds, she looked into my eyes, then she shook her head and picked up a pen and wrote down an address, then held it out to me.

"Don't do anything stupid," she said. I nodded, but I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even think, I just _had to get to this address…_

Once I was in a car and heading towards the address – I had to sort of guess where it would be, since I didn't have directions – I calmed myself down to think things through.

What would I say? He wouldn't know me. She wouldn't know me. How old would she be? It had been… it had been _ten years…_

But _of course _it was her. It had to be. Nina Tucker, the name couldn't be mere coincidence. What had been the name of Tucker's wife? Goddammit, hadn't I asked him? Didn't I know? Her name hadn't been _Irene_, had it?

Dammit, drive _faster!_

My heart was racing, and my blood was pumping in my ears. What if… what if I was too late, again?

Images flashed through my mind. A girl, a dog, snow on the ground, drawings, a _thing_, and then him, the bastard himself, as I hit him again and again in the face… and then, the blood on the wall, and the rain… the rain, which was coming back. Raindrops fell on the roof, and the windshield.

I looked at street names, trying to figure out where the house had been. I should have asked Irene…

Irene. Wait.

In my world, Tucker had transformed his wife into a chimera. Since alchemy was impossible here, of course something different would have happened. If I had had to assume what would have happened to her, I would have guessed that Tucker killed his wife, somehow, someway, and got away with it. And his… his own damn _daughter_ would be next…

But Irene had gotten away. She had gotten out, fine – hadn't she even said he made her leave? Which meant that there was no reason he would kill his daughter. There was no reason Nina Tucker would not lead a long and healthy life, and grow up, and, and, and…

Despite this reasoning, my heart rate didn't slow, but I forced myself to stop driving so fast. In fact, I forced myself to pull over, to the side of the street, and listen to the rain pounding on the hood of the car. If anything, however, the rain intensified my fears. It had rained that very day. But the rain wasn't enough to wash away the blood on the wall.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit, NO!_

I squinted out of the car window, at a street sign. I checked the paper, then looked back at the street sign. Then, I got out of the car, ignoring the rain that pelted my head and shoulders. I checked the paper again, and realized I was standing in front of it. It was in the higher middle-class part of town. None of the people there were what you could call wealthy, but they weren't struggling too much either. He had turned them into chimeras for the money, to keep his lifestyle. If he wasn't struggling, then that meant that he wouldn't have to do anything… right?

I marched up the stairs stoically, preparing myself for a bloody crime scene, or perhaps a struggle – what if I walked in while he was trying to kill her? And I could save her, once and for all, and I wouldn't have to worry, and everything would be right in the world…

I knocked one, two, three times on the door.

For a few moments there was nothing. I was going to knock the door down, and be the hero that I wished I had been.

Then, there was a gentle _click _and the door opened.

She was taller, and leaner, and her fingers were thin and adult-like, and what had I been expecting? The chubby fingers of a four-year-old? Her face remained very much the same, although longer and somehow older. Her hair was the same color as I remembered. But she was now more of a young woman than a little girl.

"Can I help you?" she asked. Her baby lisp had gone, and she sounded kind but cautious.

"…Is your father home?" I asked, trying to speak. There she was. Why did I need to speak to Tucker? There was no need…

"Just a moment…" She went inside and I heard her call, "Father! It's for you!"

And then there he was, standing in the doorway like he was an innocent man. I wanted to punch him and kick him and kill him. But I didn't. He said, "Good morning…"

"Are you Shou Tucker?" I asked bluntly.

He nodded, frowning. "Yes, is there something I can help you with?"

_Let me see your daughter again_, I thought. "No," I said. "I'm…sorry. Excuse me." I glanced over his shoulder, to see her once last time. I only saw her from the back.

Then I turned and walked down the steps and away from the house, slowly. I couldn't concentrate. She was alive… she was healthy… and she was old enough to take care of herself now… she was too old to play…

I closed my eyes and saw her once more. The child I knew. The little girl I had befriended, and promised to come back to. The woman I would never know.

The rain was falling harder than ever, but I took my time walking back down the street. There weren't many people out, apart from myself.

But even if they had been, in the rain, no one would have seen the tears silently slide down my face.

**----------------------****----------------------**

Ahahah I'm evil.

Review. The chapter from Noa's point of view will probably be the next chapter, because I wrote it in that order. But maybe it would fit better after Chapter Twenty... I don't know. Tell me what you think.

(Sorry I haven't updated in a while. Things have been hectic.)


	18. Grown Up

Chapter Eighteen: Grown Up

It was hell I was going through. I knew it. What else could have created this kind of torture for me? Thoughts, memories, unbearable memories, all because of a single incident. Even after all those years, Nina Tucker's smile, and the sight of her blood splattered across the wall was burned into my mind like it had happened yesterday.

Irene wasn't sure why I was acting so strangely, but she obviously knew it had something to do with my meeting her husband and daughter. She didn't say anything, though, and I was grateful for that. I was afraid that, if someone asked, I would tell them everything. And to tell someone everything, to admit that to someone who had known nothing of it beforehand, it was too much. Nobody would ever believe me.

_Noa did_, I thought.

Noa was different, though. She might have been the only person on this earth who was able to understand what I went through. When she touched me, she had a direct link to my thoughts, feelings, and even, sometimes, my future. Our future.

I shook my head. Our future had disappeared the moment I stepped onto the boat with Al. Noa hadn't even come to say _goodbye._ I never would have thought she hated me _that _much.

So I couldn't even think of her. I couldn't think of her or imagine her face or pretend that, when Winnie held my hand, it was Noa. I had to forget.

But I knew I couldn't. I couldn't forget about Noa the same way I couldn't forget about my life before. That same yearning to _remember_, that was what had drawn me to Winnie in the first place, right? I had seen her, and thought of Winry, and since I missed that damn woman so much, I had had to speak to Winnie. And, when I found that Winry and Winnie were not that much alike, after all, it hadn't deterred me, had it? I loved Winnie for who she was, not who she reminded me of.

In fact, my desire for familiarity turned out to be a good thing, didn't it, because it led me to Winnie, who is, in no way at all, Winry.

So, justifying my thoughts this way, I shook my head and got up, out of bed. It had been more than three days since I had seen Nina. I had to keep moving forward.

Yes, that was it. It's impossible to move on. But I always must move forward.

Irene must have talked to Winnie, or something, because Winnie was always there, next to me, holding a hand. I was glad for her support, and at the same time she was killing me with guilt, because of Noa, and a painful kind of longing, for Winry. Sure, I had felt it before, but it was now worse than ever.

At least I didn't have the dreams anymore. I had figured out that if I fell completely exhausted, I wouldn't have any dreams. I stayed up, alone, at night, trying to find something to do. After a few hours or so, I would lie down, close my eyes, and go to sleep. In the morning, I didn't remember any dreams at all.

I didn't think anyone noticed, until, one day at the garage, Roy was in the office with Winnie, sorting through some paperwork, and I heard a violent _'psst!'_ from the door of the garage.

I straightened up and looked around, frowning. Rebecca was halfway hidden in the doorway, glancing at the office. "What are you doing here?" I asked, but she put a finger to her lips, then beckoned me over with her other hand. With a furtive look around, I hurried over to her. She pulled me out of the garage, into the sun, where it was rather warm. She looked worried.

"Ed," she said, her hands drawn around herself. She looked at me. "I-" She hesitated. "You look terrible."

I smiled and put a hand to my head. "Thanks."

She shook her head. "Right, well, Ed, I didn't want to come see you, but I'm…" She paused and looked around, then leaned in slightly and lowered her voice. "I'm scared."

"Scared?" I asked, puzzled. "What, why? Did Al do something?"

She bit her lip. "I am so, so completely sorry for this, but I lied to you before, Ed."

"You lied? When? About what?"

"I said Al had told me everything…apparently, I had only seen the tip of the iceberg."

I felt all the muscles in my body tense. He _didn't…_

She looked at me helplessly. "Ed, your brother thinks that everything he wrote in his book is _real_. He told me all about it, and some things that weren't even _in _the book, and it's like he's created this whole fantasy world for himself to live in… I don't understand, is he crazy, or something? Please…I need your help."

For a few seconds, I didn't answer. I remembered Alfons. He never believed me either.

I shook my head, grinning, then asked, "I thought you didn't trust me. I thought I was – what were your words? – oh yes – a self-righteous son of a bitch. Something like that."

She shook her head. "Yes, I know, and I sincerely do apologize for all that." Her bottom lip jutted out slightly, making her look much younger than she was. "But, really. I don't even know… is he unstable, or what? You know him better than I do, after all."

"You think so?" I asked airily, looking over Rebecca's shoulder. "Why don't you just ask him?"

At that moment, Al reached the garage and put a hand on Rebecca's arm. "Becca," he said to her. "I woke up and you weren't there, I thought-"

Rebecca was still looking at me, as if willing me to say something to Al. I was silent, but Al still saw the look.

"…what's going on?"

"Your brother has something to say to you, Alphonse," she said gently, putting a hand on the back of neck, ruffling the back of his hair upward, tenderly. It seemed to be a gesture that Al was familiar with, because he didn't even bat an eyelid. Just stared at me, expectantly.

"You told her," I said simply. He took it as a question.

"Yes. I did."

Rebecca took her hand away from Al and stared between him and me.

"You're _both _crazy," she said incredulously.

"It's complicated," he told her.

"_Very_ complicated," I added. "Not to mention unbelievable."

"Well, I already don't believe it, thank you very much," she said, regaining her composure. "And you know what, Al, if you're going to straight-out lie to me like this-"

"I'm not lying," he said to her. "Every single thing I told you was true, Becca."

"Oh, _please_, it obviously wasn't. A world where – where _magic _is possible! Why would you even tell me that?"

I felt like I was intruding upon something private, and like I shouldn't be there, but I stood, rooted to the spot, for some inexplicable reason.

Al was saying, "Come on, I swear to God it was the truth-"

"Quit the act, Al," I said suddenly. "You aren't fooling her."

Al looked at me, a question written all over his face. _What are you talking about?_

I put a hand on Rebecca's back and led her softly a few steps forward. Al followed. "You see, Al's a writer – but of course you know that," I told her. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going, but some deep, brotherly instinct told me I had to cover for Al. "And… he sometimes likes to pretend that his world is real… it, well, it makes it more real for him, so he can, you know, get more into character, right?" It was turning into a believable lie. Rebecca started to nod slightly, as if I were making sense. "And, since, he' s, um, he has to talk it over with someone, to make sure it'd make for a good story, right? And so, you know, don't believe him when he goes all crazy like that, he's probably just thinking all about his book. He's been doing it since he was a kid."

"Oh," said Rebecca. "Well, that makes sense, then. Why didn't you just tell me, Al? I would have understood _that_." Al mumbled something incoherent. Rebecca sighed and turned back to me. "That's so much better. I suppose I was a tad too harsh on you before."

"You could say that again."

She looked at Al again, something I couldn't exactly place in her eyes. Something like...greed? No. Something else. "Thank you, Ed."

"No problem, Rebecca."

She was holding Al's hand, and was turning away, about to leave, but then she turned back, that same almost-smile on her lips, and said, "It's Becca. Call me Becca, Ed."

It was contagious. I smiled too. "Whatever you say. Becca."

She grinned, and pulled Al's hand. She didn't look back, but he did. And there was nothing at all that I recognized in those eyes of his. There was none of that childish laughter, none of that soft-hearted little boy I knew. He seemed so much like an adult, so much more grown up than I had _ever _known him. Had Becca done this to him? Or had he become this way after I moved out? Or maybe it was neither, and the truth was that Al _was _grown up, and he had been, and I had just been too selfish to notice.

Whatever it was, I hated it. He acted like I was an adult as well. And, whether that was true or not, it felt wrong. Because the fact remained that we were brothers, and some loud, obnoxious voice in my head kept shouting, brothers don't just forget each other when they grow up. He and I were bound by some invisible force; the same flesh, the same blood, no matter how old he seemed… In truth, when I looked at him, when I watched him walk away, I realized that he not only acted older, but looked like it too. Despite his body only being around eighteen years old, his face, and build made him look so much more mature. I saw our father in his height, the broadness of his chest, his shoulders, and especially in his eyes. There was an atmosphere of firmness around him, like you could trust him or depend on him to do anything. That came from our father. But, in the make-up of his face, I could still detect traces of our mother's face, as well. He was tall, but lithe. A perfect blend between them.

Then what would that make me? Short, stocky, but brawny and hot-tempered…the unlucky one.

Putting that aside, I realized that Al had left with Becca, and I was still there, empty-handed. He hadn't even lingered a moment. I wonder… was he angry at me for making up that story? He couldn't be jealous of me, no… Was he afraid of me?

And a small voice in my head whispered, _Are you afraid of him?_

And I realized that I was. I was afraid that he would say something, something true to me, for once, and the truth would be too much. But then I clarified. I wasn't afraid of _him_, I was afraid of what he would say. Not the same thing. Of course they aren't. They couldn't be. There was no way I was afraid of my own _brother._

But then I thought, he isn't even my brother anymore. Despite what I would hope and wish for, the simple truth was that Al and I...just because we shared flesh and blood didn't mean we shared anything else, at all. Rational, responsible adults sometimes have to let go. No matter what we went through, it wasn't enough. People grow up, develop, mature, and move on.

Which brings me full circle to my realization that I couldn't forget about anything. Did that mean I was an anomaly? Was I the only person in the world who could _not _move on?

Suddenly, there was a hand on my back. I turned around quickly, almost too quickly, expecting to see his face there…

But no. It was just Winnie, looking concerned, as usual. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Oh…Becca and Al just stopped by," I said.

"Really?" asked Winnie, glancing over my shoulder. "I missed them?"

"They left pretty quickly."

She sighed. "Too bad. Maybe I'll go over to your brother's apartment later. To talk to Becca."

"Yeah," I said. "She'd probably like that."

Winnie's brow was furrowed, and she was looking at me with something even more than concern in her eyes. "Ed," she said finally. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," I told her.

She shook her head. "You haven't slept through the night for a whole week. There's something on your mind."

"There's always something on my mind."

"There's something _wrong _this time."

I raised an eyebrow. "You think something's wrong with me?"

Still holding me by the arm, she took a deep breath. "No, that's not it. There's nothing wrong with _you_, Ed… it's just…"

"What are you trying to say?" I asked dumbly. "What is it, Winnie?"

"Why won't you talk to me?" she asked weakly. "You'll get the other girls to talk to you, but you won't even… you won't even answer any of my questions. Why do you think you have to suffer alone?"

I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm not doing this alone," I murmured. "I just…I need more time."

She looked into my eyes. She whispered, "How long?"

I let her look for a moment longer. Then I shook my head, and went back into the garage. I could tell that, for a while, she stood out there, alone. She didn't know what she was doing, no more than I did.

I was quiet, when we got back from the garage that day. Roy didn't try to start a conversation. I could only assume Winnie had said something about me. In fact, no one talked to me at all until Riza said to me, "Could you go find Shauna? Tell her supper's ready."

I nodded and, without a word, slipped upstairs. Slowly, I knocked on Shauna's door. No answer. I opened the door, to see if she was asleep.

She wasn't in the room. But it was an interesting room nonetheless. It looked like she had upturned a whole inkwell onto her dresser, and then dipped her hands into it, and made handprints all over her walls. She had written her name on one wall. _Shauna_, it said, in curly, connected letters. The ink had long since dried, but the general effect was charming.

After leaving the room again and closing the door, I turned and headed to the stairway that led to the roof. Shauna was the only one in the house who ever spent any time on the roof, but the door was still always unlocked, inviting anyone to go up there.

Up the steps, through the door, onto the cold, concrete roof. The wind was blowing, making it feel like the sun wasn't showing, after all.

I looked around. Shauna was sitting on a corner of the roof, one leg dangling off the edge, one tucked beneath her. I couldn't see her face, but it looked like she was staring into the sunset.

"Shauna," I said, walking up to her. "Supper's ready."

"I'll be down in a minute," she said. I sat down next to her.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked her.

She hesitated, then, without looking at me, said, "What do you think of Roy and Riza?"

Slightly taken aback by the random nature of the question, I replied, "Well…they're good people. They're doing a very good thing. Why do you ask?"

She shook her head, closed her eyes, smoothed her hair back. "They could have been a normal family. With this place – they could have rented it out, or something, and became successful. Maybe even rich. But they didn't. Instead, they chose to help people who could never repay them, people who had nothing to give them. All we do is take their kindness and use it. Why did they ever even let any of us into their home?"

I didn't know what to say. "Well, like I said," I told her. "They're good people."

"_Good_ doesn't mean _selfless_," she said thoughtfully. "I consider myself a good person, in general. Maybe not always, but for the most part. But still. I would have kept everything for myself, instead of having to struggle to feed all these hungry mouths."

She paused. Before I could say something, she continued, "I mean, think about it_._ The normal human thing to do would be to keep everything you have and use it for yourself and your family. They must not be human, or something."

There was a long silence this time. Then I said, "Do you think about this a lot?"

She laughed, and shook her head. Beginning to stand up, she said, "I guess. I think about everything when I'm up here. Sorry if I bored you, or something. Sometimes it's just good to say what you're thinking."

"Not always."

"I know. Not always, but sometimes." She started down the stairs. I followed her. "What about you? What are you thinking about right now?"

I smiled. "I'm wishing I had your courage."

She grinned at me. "Where did you learn flattery? You're awful good at it."

I shrugged. "It's just something you're born with."

"Damn genetics."

"Tell me about it."

She laughed. "You're not as bad as I thought you were."

"Please don't tell me you judged me based on anything Becca said."

Shauna smirked and put a hand to her lips. "Don't worry. I won't tell you."

There was a genuine grin on my face now. "I like you, Shauna."

"My goal in life."

She looked at me. She was smiling, laughter on her face, but it didn't reach her eyes. She wasn't the kid she appeared to be.

We walked into the dining room, and she sat down next to Margaret, and I sat down next to Winnie, but I could still feel it. It was strange, not exactly like anything else I had experienced here. Shauna didn't have to look at me once, or say anything more than a goodnight after eating, but it was still there, and I knew she felt it too.

She was my friend.

**--------------------****--------------------**

Excuse the filler chapter. I found it was very hard to write after finishing Chapter Seventeen. Bear with me, I promise next chapter will be better :D. I decided not to post Noa's chapter because I just made a huge change in the end of the story, and I didn't want her to ruin the surprise.

Had a family reunion this week. It was fun, but I didn't get around to writing anymore, so I'm still stuck in the middle of Chapter Twenty-Two. Probably going to post two chapters this week because I want to leave you all with a major cliffhanger when I go on vacation next Sunday (for two weeks!). Thank you so much for reading!


	19. Look, Don't Touch

Chapter Nineteen: Look, Don't Touch

When the true arrival of spring came, dusty dresses and colorful hats were dredged from the backs of closets. Early April, the there was no more snow on the ground, and the sun was always shining. Roy said not to expect the good weather for much longer; the rain would come soon enough. I asked him, "Who's the pessimist now?"

He reminded me, "Not pessimism, realisticism."

I grinned. "I don't think _realisticism _is a word."

"It is now."

It wasn't too far into spring when, one night, as I sat in the living room, and Winnie played the piano and Margaret chatted absentmindedly to Lillian, Roy slipped into the room and sat down next to me. Although still polite-looking, there was something oddly serious about him.

"Yes?" I asked.

He took a deep, long breath. "Ed," he said. "Thank you, once again, for everything you've done for this family."

He paused. I said, "My pleasure."

So he continued, "We take the girls to church every year, for Easter Sunday, and I feel the need to extend the invitation to you, if you would like to come, of course. It's not too long, it's good to hear, I think you'd benefit from it. Now you don't have to if you don't want to but I do think Winnie would appreciate it if you were there."

I looked past him, at Winnie, who was still playing. Even though I could only see her back, I imagined she had a smile on her face.

Finally I said, "Yeah. Sure, I'll come."

A grin spread across Roy's face and he clapped me on the shoulder. "Thanks. Really."

He left. I thought for a moment.

Easter Sunday. What did I know about Easter Sunday? Well, of course, I knew it was some sort of Christian holiday, but neither Al nor I had ever paid attention to that sort of thing, and Noa had never been the sort of person to bring it up, either. Gracia had a special Easter bouquet every year, but other than that…the most I'd ever celebrated a holiday had been the last Christmas, with Al, and even that had turned into something I'd rather forget.

So what was I really getting myself into, agreeing to go to church with them? I wouldn't pretend to believe any of it, no, of course not. But… if it made any of them feel any better… maybe I could look like I believed it. Just a little.

I heard Al's voice in my head. _I'm human. I want to believe in something_.

I shook my head. Religion isn't truth. Religion is just a bunch of moral lessons put together to make something that makes a vague amount of sense. The Gate – and what I had seen in it – _that _was truth. Even if I didn't want to believe it.

I shut my eyes, tight, shaking my head harder, trying to erase the things I saw. I didn't want to remember those images, of death and destruction and pain and ways humans would kill each other. The only way to deal with those images was to pretend they never happened, and I never saw them. If I ignored them, if I used actual willpower to force them from my mind… I would not have to face them.

Since I now realize this was a foolish strategy, and never could have worked, I wonder how I did last so long without literally exploding from the pressure of my own thoughts.

On Friday – 'Good Friday', Roy called it, I wasn't sure why – Roy had us hold hands at supper while he said grace. I joined in, however reluctantly.

That Saturday evening, I was about to go downstairs, when I saw that Winnie's door was open, and her light was on. I paused, then turned and headed that way.

I stopped in the doorway. She was sitting on her bed, holding her knees to her chest, looking at a small photograph she had laid on the bed.

Before I could say anything, she said, "Did you know, my mother used to take Mike and me every Easter and buy us both a new hat. Even during the war, she'd spend whatever it took, to get that hat. And then we'd go to church, but we always had to leave early, because Mike couldn't sit still. I don't really blame him. I used to always fall asleep during the sermon." She laughed and wiped away a tear from her cheek. I went to sit next to her on her bed. "That church was torn down years ago. But Roy still buys me a new hat, every year. For old time's sake."

She nodded towards her dresser, where a large, floppy pink hat with an arrangement of fake flowers sat. "Was Roy good friends with your parents?" I asked her gently.

She let out another sound half between a laugh and a sob. "He was practically family. He was my father's best man at my parent's wedding. I still have photographs…" She paused, and took a deep, rattling breath. "He was… with my father when he was killed. He brought the news home to my mother." Winnie closed her eyes and shook her head. "They loved each other. My parents, I mean. So, when he died…"

I completed her sentence for her. "She wanted to be with him."

She nodded. "Forever."

I thought of the gun Helena had pressed into my hand. I thought of the bliss I had felt as I held myself beneath the surface of the water.

"Your brother saw her do it?"

She looked at the ground. "She was standing on the porch. Michael opened the door and… she pulled the trigger."

I put my arms around her. She let me hold her limply.

And then, there was a loud gasp from what sounded like the room over. And Irene's panicked voice shouted, "Riza!"

There was a groan, and I was barely on my feet before Winnie had dashed out of the room. By the time I got to the room over, Riza, Winnie, Irene and Margaret were there, moving quickly and efficiently. Helena was standing to the side, her face pale and ashen.

"It's coming!" said Margaret, sounding anxious

"What's coming?" I asked, trying to see past the women in the room.

Winnie stepped aside briefly and I glanced in. Daley was lying on the bed, breathing fast, her legs spread apart. "The baby," Winnie said shortly.

Helena left the room abruptly, turning slightly green. Irene said, "Winnie, call Mrs. Elliot, now."

Winnie nodded, and she shut the door as she left the room.

"What's happening?" asked Roy, as Winnie passed him on the stairs, heading for the telephone.

"Daley's having the baby," I told him. "Now."

Roy tensed up. "And Riza's in there? With Daley?"

I nodded. "Irene and Margaret are with her, too."

Tom, who had been hanging onto his father's leg, started crying as there was another loud cry from upstairs.

Mrs. Elliot turned out to be an old woman with a long, thin face and hair pulled back into a severe bun at the top of her head. She was a midwife, and apparently a friend of Riza's.

Roy took to pacing the hall outside of Daley's room. I sat downstairs, where Daley's cries were muffled slightly, and was presently joined by Shauna, Anne, Fiona, Helena and Lillian.

"You're not going up there to help?" I asked Shauna, when she sat down.

She made a face. "God, no. I don't give a damn whether Daley needs me or not, I am _not _going up there."

I looked around, to Helena. "What about you?"

Helena shook her head. "It… no. I just can't go up there."

Fiona wasn't with Daley because Anne wasn't, and Lillian said she would have been up there, but the room was overcrowded already, and she didn't want to add to the chaos.

The hours dragged on. Most of the girls tended to come and go out of the room, but I knew I was the one person who would not be needed up there.

After a while – several hours – Winnie came downstairs, took my arm, and murmured, "Let's take a walk."

She pulled me out of the house, without a coat. I said, "But – don't they need you?"

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she shook her head. "Not right now."

She slowed down after we were a ways away from the house. She took my hand. "Are you okay?" I asked.

With a smile, she nodded. "Don't worry about me. If anyone, you should be asking about Daley." She answered my question before I could even ask it. "And yes, she's fine as well. She's doing much better than any of us expected."

There was a silence. I looked around, and suddenly I thought I knew where she was taking me. "Where are we going?"I asked cautiously.

She sighed, then said stonily, "I'm going to tell Becca. She would want to know. Besides, you haven't talked to your brother in a while, have you?"

"I-"

"You can go back if you want. But I'm supposed to tell Becca, so that's what I'll do."

I looked at her for a moment. Then, I said, "I'll come."

Winnie nodded. "Good."

There was another silence. It didn't take very long to get to Al's apartment, but without any conversation at all it seemed to take forever.

Winnie knocked on the door one, two, three times. It took only a few seconds until there was a _click _and someone opened the door.

It was a man, in his late thirties, with dark slicked-back hair and dark brown eyes, almost black. He said, "Can I help you?"

"…is Alphonse Elric there?"

The man's eyes brightened slightly and he smiled, shaking his head. "Mr. Elric moved out of University boarding about a week ago. I'm the new tenant."

"Oh… do you know where he went?"

He suddenly became suspicious. "Who wants to know?"

I stepped forward. "My name is Edward Elric, Alphonse is my brother. I wasn't aware he moved residence."

The man looked me over, then nodded. He gave us the name of the street Al had moved to, and we were on his way.

"It's not that much farther," said Winnie, once we were back on the street.

"Why would he move, without even telling us?" I asked, taken aback. "Why wouldn't Becca tell us, at least?"

"My guess is Becca doesn't want us to find them," Winnie sighed. "Stupid girl."

"No… I think it's that Al doesn't want to face me."

Winnie actually laughed at that. "Oh, Ed, you still think your brother's acting independently. By now you should have realized that Al doesn't even know what he's doing."

I looked at her. "What do you mean?"

She shook her head. "When Becca decides she wants someone to love her, not only does she make them love her, but she makes it so she has complete control over them. She makes it so that before you do anything, anything at all, you stop and consider, will this be good for Becca? What would Becca think of this? She takes your life and twists it and molds it so that she is at the very center. Your brother didn't decide to move, Ed. Becca made passing comments, short remarks that made him believe that if he moved, then Becca would somehow magically love him more and everything would be great. It happens with every time."

"Like… with Michael?"

She laughed bitterly. "And with me. From the very beginning, I knew she was taking advantage of me. But I let her, anyway. I told myself, she's just a girl who needs help, and I need to be the one to give it to her. Somewhere, deep inside of me I knew that she was using that exact thought of mine…" She paused and stopped walking, then turned so we were facing each other. Lightly trailing a hand on my shoulder, she said, "I guess by now we should have told you about… when I first found Becca, Ed, there was another girl with her. Her sister-"

"Rachel," I said. "Margaret told me."

Winnie nodded, took my arm, and continued walking. "Of course she did. Well. Rachel was younger, but Becca was little, so they looked almost identical, but you could tell them apart because Becca was a lot more cut up than Rachel was. This was because Rachel knew when to shut up, but Becca never cared to learn, so she wouldn't even bother restraining herself when she talked to her stepfather, and he never liked that." She was talking very fast, her breath coming out in quick bursts. I tugged her gently to make her slow down. "Well so Rachel was a lot like their mother, quiet, willing to obey, but at the same time clever – Rachel was always watching, and she understood so much more than she let on. She was a beautiful girl. Becca used her, too, worse than anyone else. We all saw it but none of us tried to stop it, I don't know why, maybe we thought they were just sisters and that was how sisters worked." She paused, then pointed to a street sign. "We're here."

We began to walk down the lane. It was a bunch of middle-class apartments, with brick walls and tall windows. "How do we know which one is theirs?" I murmured to Winnie.

"I don't know," she replied. "Ask around?"

All of the sudden, a door opened and a young woman scurried out of one of the buildings. She stopped when she saw us.

"How did you find us?" Becca asked, and there was a sort of flash in her eyes.

Winnie ignored this question. "Daley's having her baby."

Becca's expression changed. Became soft, concerned, but even as I looked at her, I thought I could see through it a little, and she didn't care, she just wanted to be part of this, part of _something_.

"Now?"

"This very second."

She glanced back at the building. "Send her my best," she said, then turned and hurried back toward the building. Winnie moved faster than I had yet seen her; she reached out and put a hand on Becca's shoulder, wrenching her around.

"How about a _congratulations?_"

Becca put on a smile. "You know that's what I meant."

They stared at each other for a moment. Then, Winnie asked, "Where's Al, Becca?"

"Fine," replied Becca, before Winnie even finished her query. There was a flash of something different on her face. "I mean, he's inside. But he's fine."

"Of course," said Winnie smoothly. "But why wouldn't he be?"

Another short, cold silence. Then, "I think you need to learn when to leave things well enough alone," said Becca coolly.

"I think you need to stop being such a manipulative bitch."

Another smile from Becca, only this time it might have been real. "Not going to happen." Pause. "Get out of here."

"Why don't you care?" asked Winnie suddenly. "Why don't you give a damn? You should be with Daley – don't you remember, she liked you, for some absurd reason she thought she liked you. You're not even going to ever _see _the child of someone you loved!"

Becca's eyes raked over Winnie's shoulder and rested on me. Gazing into my eyes, she asked, "Who says I ever loved her?"

"You love every one of us who comes through Roy's house, and you damn well know that. Look at me. Stop it, look at me!"

Winnie grabbed Becca's chin and forced Becca to look in her the eye. "Say something," said Winnie. "Say something before I break your little neck."

Without betraying a hint of fear, a smile teased around Becca's mouth and she replied, "Such empty threats, Winnie."

The two women looked at each other for a second longer, then Winnie grunted and let Becca go. "It's not worth it," Winnie told me, as if this were my fault. "Let's go."

But then, the door opened, and Al's voice said, "Becca?"

I turned around. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes, and he walked with a sort of fragility that seemed foreign to his body.

"Ed," he said when he saw me.

I nodded, but before I could reply Becca pressed herself against him and whispered something in his ear. He nodded, and allowed her to pull him back into the building, with just a meek wave before he disappeared.

I looked after him.

"He didn't look good," commented Winnie.

"Yeah," I agreed. "There's something wrong here."

"But what?"

We began to walk back again. I considered it for a moment, then said slowly, "He was sick, a few months ago. Not very bad, but… if he's not any better… maybe it's serious…"

"Don't worry," said Winnie abruptly. "Becca may be spiteful, but she's not stupid. She'll take care of him."

There was a silence, the longest yet. Then, I asked softly, "You love her, don't you?"

Without hesitation, Winnie replied bitterly, "How could I not? She's me, if I had grown up under different circumstances. She's me, if I had had a sister instead of a brother. She's me, if my father hadn't been so damn nice."

I put a hand on her back. "Are you alright?"

She didn't reply.

It was late afternoon by the time we got back, and for half a second when we opened the door, it was silent, and then all the sounds of the house reached our ears – low conversation from upstairs, the creak of floorboards in the hallway, and a baby crying.

Winnie and I looked at each other. Then, someone came down stairs. Shauna beamed when she saw us. "Took you long enough to get back," she said matter-of-factly. "Go see the baby, she's beautiful."

"She?" asked Winnie.

"Yeah, a girl," replied Shauna. "Really little, but healthy."

Letting go of me, Winnie disappeared upstairs. I smiled, but still lingered downstairs for a few moments. Shauna regarded me, with an amused look on her face. "What?" I asked finally.

"Get up there," she said. "You've said it before, you're part of this family now. Go."

I looked at her for a second, then nodded. "Yeah. Of course."

Cautiously, I went upstairs. The door to Helena's room was shut, and, at the end of the hallway, by the window, Roy had Riza in his arms, rocking her gently, eyes closed. I went into Daley's room.

Winnie was sitting next to Daley, with Lillian on the other side. Margaret sat on the windowsill, and Fiona on the floor, next to Margaret.

I took a seat next to Winnie as she asked, "So what are you going to name her?"

Daley had a soft, high voice. "I'm not sure," she said. "I'd like to name her after someone, but I don't know who."

"How about Margaret?" asked Margaret, grinning. A small smile appeared on Daley's face.

I had never seen Daley smile. She was always quiet, always reserved. She moved with a slow sort of grace that I had always wondered about vaguely. I had never really spoken to her more than a few words. She was one of those people who seemed invisible in every way. Or she had been, until this moment.

She looked happy. She looked like the happiest person I had ever seen, as she tenderly held her daughter.

"Faith," she said slowly. "I'll call her Faith."

Winnie nodded; the women around me all agreed with some sort of comment. I couldn't take my eyes off the child.

I didn't know the story behind Daley's pregnancy. I didn't know who the father was, and I didn't even know if it had been her choice to have this baby. But she still loved the girl.

Conversation continued. I couldn't concentrate.

I had never imagined myself with a child. That partly stemmed from the fact that I never imagined myself marrying, neither Noa nor anyone else. Yes, I could have been with Noa, had a life with her, but for some reason _marrying _her was something that never came to mind. Marriage always seemed to be something for people older than I. It wasn't that I was _against _marriage; it had just never occurred to me before.

Daley smiled again, stronger now. I thought, _I want to make a woman this happy._

Then I shook my head, thinking about what a fool I was. There was no way to marry without settling down, and I knew that I would do anything but settle down here, in America. I'd get a job where I had to keep moving, that took me all over the country, so I wouldn't have to stay in one place so long.

This was the most I had thought about my future in a long time. For the most part, I had always stayed in the present, thinking about now and only now, because I didn't _know _what would happen to me a day from now, a week, a year. It was too depressing.

I felt a pang in my heart as I realized my vision of the future didn't include Winnie. So what? She was just a girl. Just a woman. It didn't matter if I had her in my life or not. It was alright to be solitary, wasn't it?

But this world had its expectations; young men are expected to marry, and young women are expected to bear their husband's children. Wouldn't I look strange?...

Since when had I cared what others think? This was my life, and my life alone. I didn't have to conform to any standards.

Even though I didn't have to, I think a part of me, all along, knew that I still _wanted _to.

**--------------------****--------------------**

Gahh I meant to update yesterday. Sorry.

Rebecca is simply despicable, isn't she? She makes me angry, and I _created _her. There's plenty more of her coming up.

And Faith was born on Easter Sunday. Ahahaha. Talk about symbolism.

I updated the Author's Note in my profile. Tell me what you think of this chapter. Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it!

Oh, and you're going to absolutely hate me for leaving you with next chapter's cliffhanger. :D


	20. The Damage Done

Chapter Twenty: The Damage Done

There was something different after Faith was born. Not a huge change, but some kind of small shift in the atmosphere of the house – smiles were more easily found, and words were quiet and soft, as if everyone was constantly afraid of waking the baby from a nap.

Which, everyone really was. The baby was incredible, but never seemed to sleep. She would cry constantly throughout the night, and in the mornings, Daley would offer us an apologetic look and we would all reassure her that it didn't bother us at all.

Irene loved the baby girl, and whenever Daley wasn't holding her, Irene was. What was strange, though, was that I had assumed that Riza, also being a mother, would be the most enthusiastic about helping with Faith. But, whenever the baby girl was in the room, her looks were guarded and resigned. She looked wistful, but also… I don't know. Frightened?

I brought this up with Winnie one night, as we sat on my bed together, moonlight spilling through my small window, our arms entwined.

She nodded thoughtfully. "I can't believe you noticed. I thought she did a good job of hiding it."

"Hiding what?"

Winnie sighed. "Irene, Margaret and Shauna know. So does Becca."

"Know _what?_"

She closed her eyes. "When Tom was three years old, Riza gave birth to another child. A girl, this time. Her name was Isabella. Riza planned to call her Bella."

"Planned?"

Winnie squeezed my hand. "Bella died when she was six months old, of the influenza. Roy and Riza got into this huge argument afterward."

I asked, "What did they argue about?"

She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Roy said he wanted another child, Riza said never again. She screamed at him. It was…frightening."

"So, what's wrong now? Is she scared for Faith?"

"I think so. Some mixture of fear and I think… well this is going to sound stupid, but I think she's unhappy with her choice. Riza really loves kids, she loves Tom to death, and she… she hates that she doesn't have the courage to try again. I don't know."

I nodded. "I had no idea."

"Everyone here is damaged, somehow, Ed. Everyone."

I began to stroke her hair softly, thoughtfully. My eyes rested without seeing on the photograph of Alfons on the dresser.

Then Winnie asked, "Hey, Ed, that isn't a photo of your brother, is it? He looks sort of different."

Oblivious for a moment, I glanced around, then I said, "Oh," and nodded. "No, that's Alfons," I said.

She looked at me.

"No, not my brother. But he was a good friend of mine."

She smiled. "And where is he now? You left him, back in Europe?"

I looked away. "He's dead."

Her smile flickered and disappeared. "Oh," she said. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I said. "He was a good man."

She leaned against me, her head resting on my shoulder. "Tell me about him."

The photo of Al, Noa and I was on the dresser, right next to the picture she was asking about. Something told me she was asking about both.

"He built rockets," I said simply, ignoring the fact that I could barely breathe. "He and I were very close."  
Quieter, now, "How did he die?"

I didn't say anything for a few moments. I didn't want to talk about him. I wanted to forget. But she had told me about Michael, hadn't she? She had told me _everything_, when I asked. What could it hurt, if I told her something small, like this?

"He was shot," I told her finally. "He was helping me, and he was killed for it."

At such a close proximity, I could feel it when Winnie's heart beat faster. "What was he helping you with?"

Should I tell her? Could I tell her?

"He was… helping me find my brother again."

"Find your brother? What do you mean?"

Too many questions. I shook my head. "No, he was just, just, I didn't know where he was, okay? I don't, it's not like I… Sorry, I just, I can't explain it."

She turned my face her way and looked me in the eye, searching my face. "You're such a mystery," she said. "I can't decide whether or not I like that about you."

"I don't want to talk about it," I said, looking away. "I just want to forget my past."

Her hands found mine, and she held me close to her. "Just because you forget it doesn't mean it didn't happen."

I almost laughed at that. No, I actually did laugh.

"What's funny?" she asked. "Did I say something?"

I wanted to say, _You are a part of my past, but I'm still not sure that you'll be a part of my future._

But I didn't. Instead, I said, "No. Nothing was funny, I just… I don't know."

She patted my hand. "It's okay."

I thought, _no, it's not._

I said, "Yeah. It is."

Then she kissed me, and it was just like every other time she had kissed me.

I shook my head and pulled away.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't want this," I answered her.

She looked confused. "You don't want what?"

"Don't kiss me again," I told her.

She looked half offended, half puzzled. "But…"

"When I close my eyes," I said, and I realized my voice was shaking, "and kiss you, Winnie, it's not your face I see in my mind."

It took her a second to grasp what I was saying. Then she let go of me and sat limply on the bed. "Whose face do you see?" she asked, but her tone was listless, indifferent.

I looked at my hands in my lap. "Noa's."

She stood up. "Well. Goodnight."

"Wait, don't go-"

"_Don't go?_" she asked disbelievingly, turning around slowly. "You're saying _don't go_ after you tell me that every time I kiss you, you're thinking of some other woman? What would you do if I told you that every time I kiss you, every time I hold your hand, I imagine it's some other man who's touching me, and not you? How would _you _respond to that?"

"Please don't be angry," I said lamely.

She just stared at me incredulously. "How long?" she whispered. "You've been thinking of her, this whole time? Every single second we've been together?"

"Winnie, please-"

The baby started to cry. The sound of someone getting up, bare feet on floorboards. A _shh_ coming from the nursery. And Winnie and I were still staring at each other.

"I told you I loved you," she said. "Did that mean anything at all to you?"

I glanced away.

"I can't believe this. You can't even _look _at me."

I looked up at her again. She shook her head. "Goodbye."

And she walked out of my room, just like that. I heard her exchange a few words with whoever had gone to soothe Faith.

I hated myself for driving her away like that. But, somehow, a part of me insisted that it wasn't my fault. Who could control what they thought? It wasn't my fault if, for some reason, my mind kept conjuring up Noa's face. It wasn't my fault.

But I could've done without telling her. It would have done no harm just to keep my mouth shut…why did I even tell her in the first place?... I think that, maybe, it was because, all along, I wanted to drive her away. I wanted to… isolate myself?

I buried my head in my hands, thinking about what a fool I was. Winnie _could have_ been part of my life – no, she could have been my whole life. I could have been devoted to her. We could have been together, lived together, loved each other forever.

But now that's not going to happen. All because I told her the truth.

What does the truth ever do, but cause harm? The second you tell someone what you're really feeling is the second they take advantage of you. Becca and Al were proof of that. And when I finally tell Winnie something I've been hiding since I met her, _she's _the one who gets angry! I closed my eyes tight, shaking my head. This isn't right, I thought. There is something here that is very, very wrong.

I awoke the next morning with no dreams I could remember, but there was a sense of hopelessness somewhere in my heart.

Winnie didn't ignore me, the next day. She was barely any different to me at all, except maybe a little more polite than usual. And she somehow made sure we were never alone in the same room.

In return, I smiled when she smiled at me, and I said, "You're welcome," when she said, "Thank you." I wasn't about to get into another argument with her. It wasn't that I didn't want her back; it was just that I felt I _couldn't_. I felt that if anyone ever yelled at me again, or looked at me with that fiery look in their eye, I would collapse from the pressure of it all.

From the way Shauna looked at me, I could tell that she knew something was different between Winnie and me, but she didn't say anything, and for that I was grateful. I just wanted to live; I wanted to have some time when I didn't have to do anything but _exist._

Like she had after Becca left, Margaret warmed up to me again, began to talk to me. Lillian, less so, maybe because she also know there was something wrong, but Helena, who had been quiet since I spoke to her, began to talk a little more.

"I had an aunt named Faith," she said softly one day. "Her mother, my grandmother, I called her Nana, she was pure America, born and raised in the States. Avo, my grandpa, he was Italian, he was such a clever businessman, he ran our restaurant and made my babbo, my father, so proud."

She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I was with my cousin Bianca when they were killed. She moved to California. I came here."

Shauna said something, then. I hadn't even noticed that she was sitting with Margaret, Helena and I until then.

She said, "I've always wanted to go to California. Did you ever get any letters from her?"

Helena shook her head. "I never told her I was leaving for New York."

"Why did you come here, anyway?" asked Margaret. "Even as it was, Chicago's a helluva lot better than New York."

"I had to get away," said Helena. "I couldn't have stayed there. I wasn't in any physical danger… at least, not from anyone but myself."

She didn't even look at me when she said this, but I saw Margaret and Shauna look at each other significantly.

I nodded, and even though I seemed attentive, and I wanted her to know I cared, I didn't. Not really. It was unimportant. The only important thing was that Winnie wasn't in the room, and neither was Al, or Noa, or Alfons, or Winry or even Rose for that matter. And, believe me, this list could continue.

It was the fact that they weren't in the room, and the truth that I could have been forced to never see any of them again. To…forget.

As it turned out, this fear of mine was irrational and turned out to be completely untrue…

For better, or for worse. It's probably not my place to decide that.

Each moment felt like a week to me, but inevitably time passed. I worked, and smiled, and ate and slept and did all the other things expected of human beings in general.

Sometimes I would enter a room, and someone would stop talking quickly and look around without quite looking at me and it would be clear that they had been talking about me. Or maybe I was just paranoid, and they had never been talking about me. Even Roy did it, but after a while, it stopped hurting, and just got annoying. Everything got annoying… the way people looked, the way they talked, I seemed to find every single nuance to be found about everyone, and find fault with it.

It was easiest when I worked on cars. I didn't have to think. I could just work. But Winnie still genuinely refused to work in the office while I was there, which was one of the only ways I could tell she was still mad at me.

Deep under the hood of a car, it wasn't until they were very close that I heard them arguing. There were four or five voices, as far as I could tell, getting closer. They were so garbled together that I couldn't recognize any of them, until they walked through the door.

Winnie came first, a fiery sort of passion in her eyes, holding firmly onto – what was this? Of all people… why was she dragging _Al _through the door to the garage? Winnie kept throwing odd insults over her shoulder, past Al, who was silent and pale, at Becca, who was keeping up a running commentary on how ridiculous Winnie was being. After Becca came Shauna and Irene, and then Anne, holding Fiona's hand and gently leading her into the garage. Shauna was nearly in tears, wailing about how unfair everyone was being. It was so strange – she hadn't acted so much like a child since I had met her.

Irene was heatedly contradicting anything anyone said, period. It was like she couldn't decide whose side she was on – first it was Winnie, then Becca, then she was impartial, then back with Winnie again…

Fiona was arguing in half-formed sentences, closing her eyes now and then and putting her hands to her ears.

Al stood there, staring at the ground, eyes half closed, his skin gray and unhealthy-looking. His clothes hung loosely on his thin frame, and his eyes were dark and unmoving. Winnie and Becca were now both holding one of his hands, and for a second I had a strange urge to laugh. What a funny scene – if only they had known that neither of them would win in the end.

Everyone silenced when Roy's strong voice asked, "What's going on here?"

There was a moment when Winnie and Becca glared at each other, than they both began to talk at the same time, and Shauna actually _did _break down into tears, and Irene held her, but at the same time began to try to explain.

Roy held up his hands simply, and everyone fell quiet.

"Becca, Alphonse, glad to see you again," said Roy calmly. "Although you're not looking too well." He looked Al up and down. "You feeling alright?"

Al opened his mouth, as if to say something, but Becca said sharply, "Of course he's alright. Dammit Roy, make Winnie let go of him."

Roy replied, "I'm not about to make anybody do anything. So why don't we all just calm down and talk this over?"

"There's no need to talk," said Irene, still not letting go of Shauna. "They've obviously talked enough. God, I missed the days when you could just send them to their separate rooms and they'd get over it."

"Shut up, Irene," said Becca.

"Al, are you alright?" I asked again, looking at my brother. He didn't look at me.

"He's anything but alright-" began Winnie, but Roy cut her off.

"Let the man speak, Winnie," he said mildly. "Alphonse?"

Al finally looked up. "I'm fine," he said quietly. "Please, excuse us."

With a gentle hand, he pried Winnie's fingers off of his, and stood closer to Becca. Winnie just glared at Becca.

"Let's go," said Becca curtly.

But Roy said, "Wait just a minute. Nobody's leaving yet, there is clearly something going on and I want to know what."

They all began talking at the same time again.

"Stop," said Roy. "Stop, stop, stop, _stop._" All were silent. "Winnie, come over here. Becca, you stay right there, don't you move a muscle. Irene, go home, and take the rest of them with you."

"I'm _not _leaving," said Shauna defiantly, and there was a sort of color in her cheeks that I had not yet seen before.

Before Roy could say anything, Irene said, "Let her stay. What harm can she do? Anne, stay with her, Fiona, come with me."

Irene led Fiona out of the garage, and Roy took Winnie by the arm and led her to the small office. I began to head towards Becca and Al, but Becca said, "Get out of here."

Al, who seemed to be looking at something slight above my shoulder, shook his head just the tiniest bit. I looked at him for a second, then sighed, and turned around.

In the office, I only just caught Winnie saying, "What do you mean what do you mean, you saw him, you can't tell me that-"

And then she went silent, and both Winnie and Roy were looking at me.

"Is… this about Al?" I asked dimly.

Winnie glanced at Roy. Roy nodded.

"What did Becca do to him?" I asked.

Winnie let out a little sound of derision. "What did_n't_ Becca do to him, more like." She saw the look on my face, and immediately looked ashamed. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was uncalled for."

I ignored her. "Can't you do something? Can't you tell Becca to back off, or something?" I asked Roy.

He shook his head. "I can't. I don't have any right, and I wouldn't if I could. She has rights, and this is a free country and whatever she-"

"Be a man, Roy," said Winnie, massaging her temples. "You're the closest thing to a father she's got, go out and act like one."

Roy looked hesitant. I looked at Winnie, then at him, then back at Winnie again.

"He's _my_ brother," I said finally. "And if no one else is going to stop that girl, then I guess it's my responsibility."

I turned to leave. I reached for the door.

Then there was a bone-chilling scream and a loud _bang_.

For half a second, I was frozen where I stood, my ears ringing, trying to decipher the noise that had just went off. Then, all at once, my hearing came back and I heard shouting and Roy rushed past me, saying, "Someone has a gun!" and Winnie followed him out, her face pale but determined.

Next to the door, Anne lay in a small pool of blood. Fiona was sitting over her, crying. I began to kneel down next to her.

"Don't anybody move."

I looked around slowly.

Al was on the floor, unconscious by the look of it. His lip was bleeding. Becca was on her hands and knees, facing the floor, sobs beginning to wrack her body. There was a man, a man with a large build and small eyes standing over her.

His mouth spread into a toothy grin as my eyes traveled down his arm, to where he had a gun pointed to the girl's head.

"Hello again," said Becca's stepfather.

"Norm, Don't be ridiculous… put the gun down," said Roy, taking a slow step forward.

The man grabbed Becca by the hair and wrenched her up so she was on her knees, facing up, tears now streaming freely down her face. He held the gun up at Roy.

Becca mouthed, _Help me_.

"Don't even think about it." He shook Becca. "Shut up," he told her. She didn't stop crying. The man threw her to the ground and kicked her, hard, in the stomach. She gasped for breath. "Just like your damn mother," he said, with a note of pure disgust in his voice. "Never did a thing she was told."

Putting a heavy foot on Becca's neck, he looked at us again. His voice was lower, quieter, but I heard every word as if he had been yelling.

"Do you even understand," he began, "what you sons of bitches could have done to my reputation? I could've lost everything. You humiliated me. And that's just not right."

"This is _revenge?_" I asked incredulously.

He pointed the gun at me. "This is _justice_."

Roy said, "What do you want? What can we give you, to make you go away and never, ever come back here?"

"I just told you," he said. "I want justice."

"And you think you'll get it by killing an innocent girl?"

"She's no _innocent_," sneered the man, and he pressed harder down on Becca's neck. She made a spluttering noise, then was silent. Her eyes bulged almost comically and her face was turning red.

"Do you think that matters? Let her go!"

Suddenly, Winnie ran to the office. The man shouted, "I said don't _move!_"

The gun went off again, with a loud _bang_. It hit the ground and ricocheted into a window, breaking the glass. Fiona started to cry louder. There was a tense silence for a moment.

Then, "Drop the gun."

I turned around to see Winnie, a gun in her hands, edging toward Roy and I. Roy hissed, "_Winnie!_" but she shook her head, saying, "I swear, put the gun down or I will blow your brains out, don't test me. I swear I will!" Her voice was unusually high with fear and there was an almost manic look in her eye.

The man just continued to grin. Becca made a final little noise and passed out. He lowered the gun to Becca's head again.

"Shoot me," he said slowly, "faster than I can pull this trigger."

There was absolute silence, and a stillness that was unbearable.

For a second, I thought she was going to do it. I thought Winnie would forget that she loved Becca, that she cared for her, and was going to throw caution into the wind and shoot this man. I thought that she might actually cause the death of two of the people in the garage that day.

"You _bastard_," Winnie whispered.

And she dropped the gun.

**---------------------****---------------------**

Chapter title from a Robbie Williams song, "Love Somebody". That's also a good representation of the story, in my opinion.

I'm about to leave to get a on plane, but before I leave you guys, I just want to say this: I promise to finish this story. I've started like five other long-term stories, but I promise that I will finish this one, no matter how long it takes. Juuuust sayin'.

Thanks so much for reading.


	21. Peace I Leave With You

Chapter Twenty-One: Peace I Leave With You

"There we go," said Becca's stepfather, Norm. "Much better. Give it to me." He seemed to let up on Becca's neck a little. Her chest rose up and down the tiniest bit with each rasping breath. I put my foot on the gun and slid it towards the man. It stopped slightly behind him. "Take _her_," he said, flicking his head to Anne, who had been shot in the leg. She was alive and conscious, her big round eyes closed, whimpering in pain. There were no tears on her cheeks. "And leave. Now."

"Do you expect us to let you kill her?"

"Stupid man," leered Norm. "I'd have to kill you all if I shot her, wouldn't I now? No, I'm taking her with me. I'm taking her home. She needs to learn how to be a good daughter, don't she? I only wish her goddamn sister was here too. That girl always knew when to shut up…"

The man continued to talk, loudly and obnoxiously, telling us how stupid we were, and, so fixated on himself as it was, he didn't notice as the pale man lying behind him stirred slightly.

Al pushed himself up and put a hand to his head. He looked around blankly, and froze when he saw the scene. I forced myself to look at the man now pressing a gun to Becca's head, not daring to look anywhere else. I felt Roy tense beside me, and I knew he saw Al as well.

Winnie could have ruined it. She gasped quietly, half in relief, half in still anxious fear. I took her hand and glanced at her, saying, _Shut up_, and she transformed the gasp into a sob, and the man laughed at her and continued talking.

Silently, with stealth I didn't know he had, Al reached for the gun Winnie had been using before.

He stood up, a painful look of purpose on his face. With a shaking hand, he raised it above his head, as if to hit the man over the head with the butt of the gun.

Then, with a flash of panic in his eyes, he fumbled the gun and it went off.

An agonizing scream went through the warm late afternoon air, and Norm dropped the gun, clutching his bleeding arm. He whipped around, to see Al, who looked duly terrified.

"_YOU SON OF A-"_

"I'm calling the police!" shouted Roy, just as Winnie dived for the gun that the man had just dropped.

Norm looked around once, twice, three times. He saw Roy running into the office, to a telephone, and Winnie, her eyes full of fire, the gun in her hands pointed directly at his forehead.

He roared, "Damn you all!" and sprinted out of the garage, the arm that Al had just accidentally shot hanging loosely at his side.

Al dropped to his knees and put his arm around Becca, whose eyes began to flutter open. I wanted to comfort Winnie, but Anne needed me more. I quickly kneeled down to examine Anne's wound.

With a flash of blonde hair, Winnie was gone.

"Winnie!" I yelled after her, then I looked at the door, then back at Anne.

Her eyes barely open, her lips barely moving, Anne murmured, "Go."

I paused, then nodded, and stood up, and ran after Winnie.

There she was, her bright hair standing out among the grays and browns of the buildings and men in suits on the street. She was pushing and shoving people out of her way violently, following some invisible trail that only she could see. I shouted her name, again and again, and shoved people just as violently as she, but she didn't stop or pause at all. She refused to even glance over her shoulder, or be deterred at all.

I almost lost her when she took a sharp left, and delved into one of the poorer parts of the city. She slowed down a little then, and I caught up to her. She was panting heavily, running slower, limping slightly with twisted ankle.

"Winnie," I pleaded with her. "Where are you going?"

Still breathing hard, she raised a hand and pointed to a broken and rundown apartment building. "What is-"

Winnie wrenched the door of the building open and went up a flat of stairs, then banged on the fourth door, calling, "Mrs. Miethke! Open the door!"

Before Winnie could hit the door again, it opened, and a woman, with small, delicate limbs and a face of permanent surprise stood in the door way, looking scared to death.

"Please, no, I don't know anything," she said, and she tried to close the door. But I stuck a foot in and pried it open, allowing Winnie to talk.

"Is Norm home yet?"

Becca's mother didn't say anything, only looked at us, a frightened look on her face. Winnie grabbed her and physically shook her by the shoulders. "_Dammit, Sarah, where is your goddamn husband!"_ she screamed.

The woman's mouth formed the words, _Not here._

"Sarah!" called a voice from the stairwell, and, for half a second, Winnie and Becca's stepfather stared each other in the eye, and the hate was almost physical, like I could reach out and touch it.

Then Winnie held up her gun and pulled the trigger.

Norm had already began down the stairs again, and she missed by a mile, but, as she threw herself down the stairs at him, she shot again and again and again. I was screaming, yelling at her the whole time, but she couldn't hear me. She was running and he was running – it was impossible for her to get a clear shot, and it wasn't as if she had been particularly skilled with a gun in the first place…she missed every shot.

She chased him, and I chased her farther and farther into the worst part of town – people began yelling at us and some actually whistled at Winnie as she ran past. I couldn't even spare a glare for them. It took all of my energy, all of my focus to keep my legs pumping.

Finally, I she stopped moving, and I realized it was a dead end, and there was nowhere for the man Winnie was chasing to run now.

He was backed up against the wall, sweat pouring off his face, gasping for every single breath, shaking hard. She was breathing just as hard, but there was no fear on her face. Only a cold hatred, and fury, and, pain and grief, overwhelmingly so. Her hand wasn't even shaking, as she held it only feet away from Norm.

"Winnie," I said, between panting breaths. "Don't."

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't." Adrenaline seemed to have kicked in, and despite the fact that she had just stopped sprinting, she didn't seem to need the air. "This… this _mockery _of a man walks with a gun and threatens somebody I love when he _knows_, he goddamn well _knows _what happened to the last man who had a gun pointed at his head in that garage, and he just – just to_ screw _with me – _HE DESERVES TO DIE!"_ she bellowed, and her hand began to shake.

"Are you afraid?" uttered Norm, that same toothy grin appearing on his face. "I knew it. Just the same with all of you. Too _nice._ Too _weak._"

I stepped forward, and, with every ounce of pure strength I had left in me, I punched Becca's stepfather in the head. He slid to the ground, out cold.

Winnie followed me forward, and pressed the gun against the man's temple, turning her face away. "Our Father, who art in Heaven…" she whispered, eyes closed tight.

"Don't do this, Winnie," I warned her, as she continued to whisper her prayer. "It's not worth it. It won't make you feel better. This won't solve _anything_. You'll be hurting the people you love. Don't do this. Please, Winnie, stop now."

"…now, and forever. Amen." She opened her eyes, and faced the man she was about to kill. All of the hesitance, if there had even been any, from before, disappeared.

I took her other arm. "Winnie, please, think about this!" I implored her. "Think about what you're doing! I know you're angry and I know you're hurt but _don't do this!_ It's not worth it!"

"Who are you to tell me this!" she shrieked at me. "You don't know anything about me! This is – _this is something I have to do!_"

"No, it's not!" I cried. "Don't do it, killing this man will not give you the satisfaction you think you'll get." She was silent, silently beseeching me to continue. "I should know," I said softly. "I know how you feel, Winnie. And I know how it feels… after you've done what you can't undo."

"You've… you've killed someone before?"

There was a sharp pain in my chest. "Winnie…yes."

There was a moment of silence. Then she snarled, "Like hell you have!" and pressed the gun harder into the man's head, but I could see her resolve was crumbling. She didn't want to do this.

"Think about your family!" I said. "Think about the people you love! No one wants you to become a murderer!"

"It wouldn't be murder!" she said, and her voice was weaker now. "It would be… justice."

I took her hand. "You're using his words now."

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "No," she said. "He used mine."

She pulled the trigger.

There was a dull _pop_ and the man's head knocked against the brick wall once…but otherwise was not harmed. Winnie had used all the bullets chasing after him.

For a moment, we stood there, stunned, staring at the unconscious man lying in the street.

Then Winnie dropped the gun, and fell into my arms, weeping. I held her, stroking her hair, whispering words of comfort, supporting her as she sobbed into my shoulder.

"Don't be sad," I spoke into her ear. "…it's what Michael would have done."

She only cried harder.

When the police finally found us, Roy and Becca's mother Sarah were with them. Roy immediately came over to where I was holding Winnie, and took her hand and murmured, "Come with me, you're safe now, we're all safe… let's go home."

With one hand holding hers, and the other gently resting on her back, he led her to a car, and, as policemen swarmed over the scene, and Sarah Miethke began to sob, repeating over and over again, "I didn't know, I had no idea, please make him go away, he beat me, he beat me," I finally realized something.

It wasn't Winnie I wanted. It was Winry.

But that didn't mean I had to exclude Winnie from my life. The truth was, I didn't _want _her, but however I tried to push her away, I _needed _this Winnie in my life. I needed her to be there as a friend, as a confidant, and as a pillar of rock that can never be shaken. But at the same time, I realized that she needed _me _as well. There was no way I could ever separate myself from this life, because I was already closer to Winnie than I had been with almost anyone else. I needed her in my life. She needed me in hers. There was love there – there was so much love, but it wasn't the kind I had been fooling myself into believing in. It was the kind of love that gave life _meaning_.

It was the kind of love that Winnie had been craving so much since her brother died. And it was the kind of love I had lost a thousand times already, with my father, my mother, my friends, my brother, my _true _brother, and a hundred other people who I missed so much. But the funny thing was, I didn't need any of that anymore. I didn't need to see their faces, to hear their voices, to even know they were _alive_. That wasn't to say I didn't want to – I still wanted to, more so than anything ever.

The knowledge, the feeling that a single person loved me and needed me was enough. It was like – I didn't have to tear my hair out at night, or wish for death because of my regrets and the years that I couldn't get back. It was acceptance – the acceptance that some things I couldn't change, and I just had to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving, and know that one day, these things would be alright.

I went up to the roof that night. Before I even washed the sweat out of my hair and Winnie's tears off of my shoulder, I went up onto the roof. I sat on the edge, just like I had seen Shauna do, and I didn't have any sudden urges to throw myself off and end my suffering, because there was no suffering to end.

The ache in my heart hadn't disappeared. But now, it was…different.

I wished I could have said goodbye to them. I wished I could have explained to them all that I couldn't stay in their world, I had to go…

_Their_ world. Not mine. Not anymore. I smiled bitterly.

There was a creaking sound, and I heard the sound of feet padding over to me on the roof. I didn't move as someone leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

"Thank you," whispered Riza. "For everything." I nodded silently. She disappeared.

And someone else walked up behind me, then slowly sat down. She had a small blanket around her shoulders, but she still shivered in the night air.

Winnie rested her head on my shoulder.

No words were exchanged between us that night. I don't think any were needed. I had finally realized what she had understood all along, but refused to accept.

Together, we looked up at the stars, and we shared something, something that wasn't exactly happiness, but… contentment. Peace. Trust. In each other, and in the world. Something she hadn't had in a long time.

Something that, that night, I discovered I had in me all along.

**--------------------****--------------------**

Oh, jeez. If you don't hate me after this, just wait until next chapter.

On another note, I start a new school in two weeks. Wooh.

Thanks so much for reading.


	22. Mirrors and Messes

Chapter Twenty-Two: Mirrors and Messes

Anne's arm moved in a graceful arc, much longer than any Al had ever done. She was using her wall as her canvas, something Shauna had convinced her to do. The first few minutes Shauna, Winnie, and I had watched her, and Irene had stood in the doorway with Daley's daughter in her arms. Gradually, the others had left, and so now it was only me, watching her hands move, creating a shadowed, chalky picture.

The illustration was barely halfway done, but stunning already. It was better than anything I had ever seen – anything professionally done, or anything Al had done. For a while, I hadn't been able to figure out what it was, then, as she finished another long stroke, it was clear.

It was a woman's figure, standing, her face tilted upward, her right arm raised to her eye level, her left arm turned outward at her side. She could have been dancing, or screaming to the heavens.

Anne continued to work, and suddenly there was another figure opposite to the one she had just finished, and she drew long marks around the second figure and I realized it was the woman's reflection in a mirror.

In the mirror, Anne drew a man holding the outstretched hand of the dancer's reflection.

And then, suddenly, the dancer began to move. She put her hands at her side and looked to the ground, then became still. And the image flipped. The reflection was no longer a reflection, and the man and the woman who had been in the mirror turned, walked away, and disappeared. Something inside of me cringed, and I felt like I had forgotten something, like there was something I urgent I had to do but I did not, for some inexplicable reason…

Someone gently shook me by my shoulders and I opened my eyes. "You fell asleep," said Margaret. She glanced at Anne, who was putting away her charcoal, and then leaned in. "Hell, I don't blame you. You do realize you watched her _draw _for at least six whole hours? God, I applaud your patience."

I smiled, then looked back at the shadows covering Anne's wall. I noticed something I hadn't before – the dancer was frowning, her face sagging a little in pain and sadness. The mirror image of the woman was smiling, with happiness.

I said goodbye to Anne and left the room. Winnie caught up to me when I was almost to the door. "I'll walk you home," she said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes, returning the smile. "Gee, thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you."

She laughed and took my arm. "Come on. It's getting dark."

"I don't want you to walk back here in the dark."

"Roy'll come get me."

"You could always just spend the night."

She leaned her head on my shoulder in a friendly, sisterly sort of way. It had been four months since the birth of Daley's daughter, and since there had recently been _another _addition to the family, I had decided a while ago that it was time to get my own place. With Roy's help, I had found a small flat that wasn't in exactly what you would call an affluent neighborhood, but it wasn't in the middle of any ghettos, and it was clean and roomy enough for a single person, and that was all I asked for.

Louisa, a cheerful, blonde-haired seventeen-year-old who was blind in one eye, had joined the family a few weeks ago. It was nice for a while, until everyone realized that she was _really _annoying. She got into a couple fistfights with Margaret, and then, suddenly, she truly was a part of the family.

Everything had changed, but still so much remained the same. Things were going smoothly – I had plenty money saved up, and I spent a lot of time with those people I liked. It could've been perfect.

But it wasn't. Because every time I saw Becca – which started to happen more and more, since apparently she and Winnie were speaking again – I was reminded that even though there was nothing I could do about the other world, there _was _something incomplete in this world…

Al still wouldn't even look at me. And I hated it.

All it would take for me to mend that rift and make it so we were friends, no, _brothers _again, would be to talk to him. But I just couldn't make myself.

Why not? Who knows. I've faced more frightening things in my life than confronting my brother. But every time I saw him, it was like my jaw was glued shut.

I reread Al's book. There was something comforting about remembering times when we had been so closely bound together. I reread it again, and laughed at the thing. It was so preposterous, all of it. Alchemy? Homunculi? A philosopher's stone? Ridiculous. No one in their right mind would believe that today.

So what does that make me? Crazy, because I believe it? Or enlightened, for the same reason? Al would've said enlightened. _Would_ have. Past tense. I don't know now.

It was so silent in my new home, far more silent than I was used to. I hadn't realized how accustomed I had become to the gentle cry of a baby during the night, or whispered conversations from the room over.

Despite the fact that I had told myself I wasn't going to, I found myself spending all of my free time with Winnie and the others. Anne's art really took off, and I now had two works of art on my walls; Al's painting and a piece from Anne, not quite the caliber of the drawing on her wall that she had entitled The Dancer, but amazing nonetheless. It was a simple drawing of the piano that Winnie had sat at so often. It was incredible.

Now that Becca and Winnie were getting along again, Shauna took to following Becca whenever she was around. There was a drastic change in her behavior that I didn't understand. She had been so intelligent, so independent while Becca was gone… but then again, wasn't that what Becca did? Isn't that what Winnie told me?

Whenever Daley wasn't with her daughter, Irene was. She stepped back from every other duty she had done in the house to hold Faith. Lillian, on the other hand, got a job at a factory. She told me it was a mistake to leave England, and she was going to save up enough money to go back. I wished her good luck. Fiona's condition seemed to be getting worse. She made no sense when she talked anymore, and she didn't sleep anymore, either.

Helena was unchanged. Quiet, but not unwilling to talk if prompted. Everyone was still getting used to Louisa, but Margaret…

Well, I learned the truth about Margaret's past, finally. I have to say, it made me think about her differently, and it made a lot of sense.

Roy told me that Margaret was the youngest of sixteen children. Six sisters and nine brothers. From what he said, they were never too gentle with her, but apparently none of them cared about her enough to actually hurt her. Roy said that, after living fourteen years being virtually ignored all the time, she had ran away from home and lived on the streets as a prostitute. She had lived, for a year, with a man who had beat her viciously, until Riza had found her hiding in the back of the speakeasy, and brought her home, where she had lived for seven years, almost as long as Irene. Margaret, Roy told me, constantly craved attention, and envied Becca's ability to make people fall in love with her very much. I had never actually seen Margaret and Becca talk to each other, face-to-face, and I think this jealousy might have explained that a little.

Becca, by the way, was cold as ever to me. She treated me with a kind of contempt that I couldn't understand, and that made me want to talk to her alone, and tell her what I felt. And that's exactly what she wanted. It was so obvious that she was manipulating me, and the sad thing was, it was working. I was desperate for a chance to get angry at her, to tell her how harsh she was being with me. But I restrained myself, as best I could. I wouldn't let her get to me.

"That won't get you anywhere," Winnie said, after I told her this. "She's just going to lay it on you thicker and thicker 'til you break. Simple as that."

"Damn," I muttered. "But why does she _do _that?"

Winnie shrugged. "She likes being in control. But the thing is, she'll never admit she's doing it. It's almost as if she doesn't know."

"Of course she knows."

"I know she does. She's just so good at pretending she doesn't."

I shook my head. "What are you supposed to do? To make sure you don't fall for one of her tricks?"

Winnie sighed. "Pray to God, that's what I say."

There was a pause, then I said, "I don't believe in God."

She looked at me oddly. "Then how did you survive?"

"Survive what?"

"All of it. Everything you've told me, and everything you never will."

I smiled weakly. "You still think there're things I haven't told you?"

"I think there are things I haven't told _you_." She returned the smile.

"Like what?"

She looked away and thought for a moment, shaking her head. "My brother had the most annoying laugh."

"Really."

She smiled, saying, "Yeah, really. Now you tell me something."

I rolled my eyes, then paused in thought. There were so many things I could have said. Instead, I told her, "I used to be short."

She laughed. "You are kind of short…I never really thought about that before. Hmm."

"Oh, come on. I'm short compared to my brother, but he's just really tall. He gets it from our dad."

"So was your mom short? Is that where _you_ get it from?"

Winnie was still laughing, but as my mother's face flashed across my mind's eye, I couldn't suppress the sudden silence and rigidness of my body at the thought of her. It was something that had always happened, when I thought about my mother. Even now…

Winnie noticed at once. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to upset-"

"No, it's fine," I told her. "It's been years."

She nodded wisely, as if she had any idea. "I know how it is," she said, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "I do, I really do."

This time, I laughed. "Somehow, I don't think you do."

She let out a little noise of exasperation. "Cut the crap, Ed. I know we grew up in different worlds, but… in the end, it's all the same. I _do _understand, and don't you dare tell me I don't."

I smiled. "You have no idea how right you are."

She looked pleased with herself. "Finally, you're making some sense."

There was silence. Then, as it was in the middle of a work day, Roy poked his head into the small office and said, "Lunch break ended half an hour ago, Ed."

I stood up, to get back to work. When we were out of the office (and Winnie's earshot), Roy said, "You know, it's kind of weird when you're with her. She's never taken to anybody like you… it's like you two have known each other your whole lives."

I shrugged, suppressing a smile. "Sometimes I get that feeling, too."

He looked at me oddly. "It's been – what, almost a year now, right?... And I honestly still have not figured you out."

With a smile, I turned back to the car I was working on. "Is that such a bad thing?"

The day ended normally. Winnie and I talked for a long while before I went home …_home_. It almost sounds funny. To think of that little flat in New York as my home. But it _was _home, and it felt like it, especially after a day spent with Winnie and Roy and the others.

Night had fallen by the time I entered the apartment, so I decided to call it a night and go to sleep. I was getting ready to slide into the small bed when there came a frantic knock at the door. Wondering why Winnie would call so late, after we just spoke, I opened the front door, frowning slightly.

I was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted me. My brother Alphonse stood in the doorway, pale, with dark shadows under his eyes. And his eyes – there was something strange there, something that made him look tired and beseeching, and there was also something familiar, something I hadn't seen in a long time…

"Can I stay here for the night?" he asked bluntly.

I nodded, temporarily stunned, and stepped out of the way to let him in. Finally, I regained control over my voice and asked, "What are you doing here?"

He didn't look at me. His hands were shaking. "It's… Becca."

"What happened? Did she kick you out?"

With a shake of his head, he sat down on the small, dark couch, leaning his head back against the top and closing his eyes.

"Then what is it? Did you have an argument?"

Quietly, gently, with a voice that made him sound like the child he was, he said, "I don't understand."

"What?"

He opened his eyes and looked at me. "Remember when I was going to ask for Becca's hand in marriage?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Not that easy to forget."

He put a hand to his head regretfully. "She said no."

It felt like something heavy dropped into the pit of my stomach when I realized what he was saying. "You _asked _her?"

Al nodded. "It was perfect. But she said no."

A part of me wanted to scold him, to tell him he was stupid was actually asking her, but it didn't seem like the right moment to bring it up. "So…did she leave you?"

"Of course not. I… I thought that if we got married, she wouldn't… things would be better… but I think, I don't know, but I really think she likes us how we are."

"And you don't?"

Another shake of the head. "You don't understand. You can't understand what it's like with her. I told you before, it's like she has this spell over you, I can't think or even breathe with her. I love her so much," he said. "But I don't understand what she wants from me."

"I'm not following," I said.

"Don't you get it?" he asked exasperatedly. "She acts like…" he looked away, as if ashamed, "…like I'm not even worthy of her. But she tells me she loves me. I…I just don't know."

Bewildered, but trying not to show it, I said, "You can stay here as long as you want." I paused, then said, "How did you get this address?"

"Winry," said Al. I looked at him questioningly. He caught my gaze, then shook his head. "Sorry. Becca calls her Winry. I meant… Winnie."

"I thought Winnie didn't like being called Winry. She said it reminded her too much of her brother."

Al grimaced. "Her brother. Michael. I've heard about him."

"From Becca?"

He nodded. "She said he was a hopeless drunk who used to propose to her every other day. She said he always scared her, and he would never leave her alone."

I frowned. This wasn't what I had heard from Winnie. "But… Winnie told me he was just a kid, there's no need to judge him so harshly…"

"You should hear Becca talk about him. He used to _stalk _her." There was a pause. Then, he said softly, "She won't stop talking about him. She misses him."

I thought about this for a moment. _Becca_ still missed Michael? It had been more than a year – even Winnie seemed to have worked past his death. And if Becca had hated Michael so much, why would she refuse to let go of his memory? From what Winnie had said, it was _Becca_ that had initiated the romance between Michael and her, so why would Becca tell Al something else? Could it be just that she wanted to hide the fact that she had once been with another man? But Becca didn't seem like the type of person to shy away from that. It had occurred to me that she was lying to Al, but could it be _possible _that the true Becca was starting to show? That she actually did miss Michael, and she had never found a way to get over it? Or was this part of her plan to manipulate Al? What purpose could telling him this serve?

Lost in thought, I didn't hear what Al said. "What?" I asked.

"I said… it's hard to even write. I've been working on something, for a while, and when she looks at me… I can't do anything but focus on her."

I paused. Writing had once been Al's passion – not just a hobby, but a true _passion._ I was silent.

"I'm exhausted," he said finally. "I…need to sleep."

He slept on the couch that night. In the morning, he was gone. The blanket he had used was folded and laid neatly on the couch. It was such a complete Al gesture. I smiled.

When I went to work that day, I felt like what had happened between Al and I had been a dream. In fact, I might have convinced myself it was, if it hadn't been for that blanket, folded and left on the couch. When he was there, I had forgotten how hard I had thought it was to talk to him. It had been so easy to treat him like a brother again. I didn't tell anyone he had come, not even Winnie, who probably would have been very interested to know what was going on between Becca and him.

For some reason, I also couldn't help but think of how alike we were. Despite being in different situations, neither he nor I really knew what we were doing, or where we were going, and we both, I think, got the feeling we were being lied to.

I couldn't decide whether I was happy for Al or now; I couldn't seem to tell if he was happy where he was or now. He said that he loved Becca… but did he really mean it?

The next day, Al didn't talk to me or look at me. He didn't act any different, when I saw him, than he had before. Either he was pretending it never happened, or maybe he just thought it wasn't important.

Becca was suddenly and drastically different towards me. When Al wasn't looking, she'd smile at me, or hold eye contact with me a second too long. Winnie saw this, I knew she did, and I could tell she hated it.

One Sunday afternoon, she sat with me in the kitchen at Roy's place. Something was clearly on her mind, and I was sure I knew what it was.

"It's not my fault, is it?" I asked. She looked at me wildly for a moment, then her face relaxed and she shook her head, realizing what I was talking about.

"What Becca's doing? No, no, it's not your fault at all. But she's being way too blatant with it… something must have set her off… You didn't talk to her at all, did you?"

I shook my head. "Not in a long while."

"I didn't think so…"

She thought hard for a moment. "Maybe… she's bored…"

I looked at her incredulously. "_Bored?_ With what – Al?"

With a sigh, she nodded. "It happens with her. After a while, the thrill of controlling someone wears off, and she starts to think she's wasting her time with them. I bet she feels it's time to move on to bigger and better things."

I couldn't suppress a grin at that. "Bigger and better things? You can't be referring to _me _now, can you?"

She rolled her eyes and smiled tightly. "I'm referring to anyone who'll look at her longer that five seconds. And since we're all so used to her, we don't show her any more attention than usual… but you do seem to be slightly interested in her…"

"Oh, please, that's only because of what she's doing to Al," I protested.

"Be that as it may, Ed, it's enough for her. Just be on your guard. And try not to be alone with her. She's pretty damn convincing, as it turns out."

"What's she going to try to convince me?"

Winnie looked at me with a heavy, solemn look in her eye. "Same thing she swayed your brother with. She's going to make you fall for her, Ed."

I laughed. "Right. It might be tough for her though, now that I know."

"Laugh all you want. To say no to Becca… it's the hardest thing you'll ever do."

Rolling my eyes, I replied, "I seriously doubt that, Winnie."

"Just wait."

It didn't take long. Less than a week later, at the garage, while Roy was in the office with Winnie, going over some old paperwork, I turned around to wipe my hands on the rag, then jumped. Becca was standing a few feet away, holding the rag that usually hung on the wall. "When did you get here?" I asked suspiciously.

"Just now," she said, her eyes raking up and down my body. The way she stared at me seemed so primal, it was almost physical, and it was like I could feel her gaze.

I held out my hand. She gave me the rag, her fingers slipping out of mine as she handed it to me. For a minute she simply stood there, staring at me.

It was nothing like the way Margaret had tried to approach me. Becca had a look in her eye that was not pleading, begging me for attention, like Margaret, but instead confident, and also admiring.

"What do you want?" I asked. "Where's Al?"

"Alphonse is at a class," she said calmly. "He thinks I'm going to talk to Winry."

"Aren't you?" I asked.

She smiled. "Of course I am. I'm just always so hesitant to walk in on her when she's in the office. In case she pulls a gun on me, you know." She laughed lightly, as if it were funny.

I told her, "I'm sure you won't surprise her. Go right in."

Her smile disappeared. "I think I'll talk to you first." She brushed her fingers along the wall. "Alphonse told me he talked to you. Thanks. I feel like he really needed a friend, and sometimes I just can't be it all."

Her voice suddenly became weaker, and the confidence in her eyes seemed to be slipping. "It's like… he holds me on such a high pedestal, and I want to live up to what he sees in me… but I've thought that maybe I have nowhere to go but down. I mean, I'm so flattered by it, but… I don't want to let him down."

I felt a flicker of something for her, then I shook my head. She was just trying to handle me. "Spare me the speech. I know what you're trying to do."

She looked slightly confused, then, almost shamefacedly, she looked away. "Yeah. Of course. Winnie's told you over and over again how much of a bitch I am, hasn't she…? But I suppose I've acted the part as well." She looked back at me, and she _did _look like Margaret, with a pleading look in her eye. "I said some awful things to you. And, to tell the truth… Alphonse has never, ever said anything bad about you. He reveres you. He loves you; you're his older brother. He…he worships you."

"I…what?...no…"

Becca ran her thin fingers through her hair. "I looked in one of his journals once. More than once, actually. I didn't tell him, but I saw that he was angry with you and I decided to take advantage of that. I was angry too, I was out of control. You're so furious at me, I just know it."

"Wait, I never said I was angry at you-"

"Then you're a better person than I," she sighed. "But I suppose that's not hard. Winry's been telling me for years I'm scum, when it comes to human beings." There was a note of hardy bitterness in her voice.

"I don't think she meant-"

"Before you knew us, Ed, it was only ever when she was mad at me that the truth came out. You should have heard the things she said. I know that she was just too angry at me to think properly, but… I remember every horrible thing she's ever said to me. It hurts to think about it."

Al's words came back to me, sharply, and for a second I lost my voice. She was silent, as if waiting for me to speak. When I was finally able to speak again, I said, "It's strange. You're tied so closely to me through my brother but I really don't know you. At all."

"Seconded. When I think of you, I just think of everything Al's told me. You're strong, tough, and he says you care so much for everybody else. He says that you gave up so much for him." She paused. "He told me about a woman. He's drawn her for me. She's beautiful."

"…Noa?"

"Yes, that was her name. Noa. Well." She put a hand on my arm. "I can't believe that you would leave so much, for him…I could never have done that. I'm far too selfish."

Shaking my head, I said, "No, you're not selfish – and I shouldn't have judged you based on what Winnie said, I never really-"

Then I stopped myself. I noticed how close her face was to mine.

I stumbled backwards, away from her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I demanded. "Did you really think this would work?"

She looked puzzled, frightened. "Did I think what would work? I just wanted to talk, Ed."

"No, you damn well didn't _just want to talk_, I know what you're doing, and I won't fall for it," I told her firmly. "You're not going to be able to mess with me. Your stupid tricks won't work."

She backed away. "I see," she said quietly. "I apologize if I was being too forward, I just wanted… I just want to be your friend."

"Yeah, right," I said, rolling my eyes. She looked at me, and I stared back at her, refusing to break eye contact. She looked… well, she simply looked sad. Not disappointed, or angry, just sad.

Looking away, she said softly, "I'll just go talk to Winnie, then," and turned towards the office. After a few steps, however, she turned back around and faced me. "Just one more thing." She paused. "When I look at you, I see… I see every mistake I ever made."

I raised my eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

She wouldn't look at me. "I've never told Alphonse about this, but… We're the same, Edward. The older sibling. You have Alphonse, I had… Rachel." She turned away, so I couldn't see her face, but I could hear her voice shaking. "I should have cared more about her. I should have put her first, and made sure she was always safe. I should have given up my _life _for her…" She shook her head, looking guilty. "But I was just too scared. I was frightened of what might have happened if I gave up everything for her. I… didn't love her enough. I should have been what you are. But I was a fool." She shook her head, looking around, everywhere, except my eyes. "I think, maybe, if I try hard enough…I can make it better, by loving Alphonse. But no. Nothing will ever make it better… wherever Rachel is, I swear to God, I hope she hates me. I hope she hates me for what I… for what I didn't do for her."

There was a moment of silence. Then she shook her head, murmured, "I have to go," and dashed out of the garage.

I stood there, gaping at the door.

_What?_

There was no way she was telling the truth…Winnie had told me again and again, she'd try to manipulate me, to make it so I love her and I felt for her and wanted to make her happy…

But, _damn_. I didn't write a book about our life before. Al never wrote about how I felt after… after all I had put him through. I don't think Al ever fully understood, for that matter. How did she know?

Could it be possible that she really felt that way? And that she _did _want to be friends? After all, she did make some sense. I had no idea who she really was – I just had a twisted version from Winnie, who seemed to have an odd love/hate relationship with her. Maybe I could try at getting to know the _real _Becca, instead of just the woman I had come to see her as. Maybe it was okay to care for her. She might be my future sister-in-law, after all.

There was just something so strange about Al and Becca. He'd always been too busy focusing on other things – I'd never seen him as one to fall for a woman so easily. It's not like he'd never been interested but… he was my little brother. It was supposed to be me first.

I shook my head. What a stupid way of thinking. There was never any _supposed to be_. There is just _how things are._ No what-ifs, no should-have-beens…

As Roy came out of the office and said something to me, then got back to work, I stood there, transfixed, staring at the spot Becca had just vacated.

…Al and Becca…

Hard as I tried, I couldn't get those should-have-beens out of my head. My thoughts drifted to the inked illustration Al had drawn, and I had accidentally seen, what felt like a thousand years ago. I could see Becca, lying on a bed, no, lying on _my_ bed, completely undressed, a slight, mysterious smile on her face, perfectly in my mind's eye…

Repulsed by my sick imagination, I shook my head violently and Roy asked, "You alright, Ed? You look like a little pale."

"I'm fine," I mumbled, closing my eyes, squeezing them shut tight, but the mental image seemed to have been burned onto the back of my eyelids.

This wasn't love I felt for Becca. It was something else, something far more superficial, and so all the more dangerous. She and I were connected in so many ways, ways that she didn't even know, ways that _nobody _knew, nobody except for me…

As I lay in bed that night, arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't help but think…

_Damn. She's good._

**--------------------****--------------------**

I just finished rereading "Of Mice and Men" and "To Kill a Mockingbird" so excuse the attempt at forshadowing and/or symbolism in the beginning of this chapter.

Since I'm in the middle of the next chapter and kind of at a loss of what should happen next (I want a chapter or two before the beginning of the end), just a quick question: Does anyone really care about Michael? Do you want to know more about him or should I just let the dead man rest?

Thank you so much for reading!


	23. Broken

Chapter Twenty-Three: Broken

The next time I saw Becca, she did nothing to suggest she had even spoken to me at all. She seemed even less interested in me than she had before. Sometimes her eyes would flit across the room, and slide right past me, as if I wasn't there. Despite having told myself that I would stay as far away from her as possible, I felt disappointed when she didn't look my way.

I also started to doubt what Winnie had told me about Becca. Her words might not have been harshly truthful, but… biased. Clearly, some of it was true, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Winnie had been dishonest about Becca.

One evening, I was sitting with Lillian and Shauna, who was talking wildly and randomly about some kind of scandal in the US government while Winnie sat with Tom at the piano, plunking out a simple tune, when Roy slipped into the room and said, "Ed." I looked up. With a resigned but somehow amused expression on his face, he continued, "Can I talk to you?"

I nodded and stood up. Winnie shot a smile my way as I left the room with Roy. When we were in the hallway, he shut the door and looked at me expectantly.

"What?" I asked.

Shaking his head, he asked "What the hell did she do?"

"What did who do?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"There's something in your eyes when you look at her. Something I never expected from you."

That same expression on his face. A hint of the beginning of a smile.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

He sighed, sounding impatient for the first time. "Becca, Ed. That's what I'm talking about." He paused. I said nothing. "Listen to me. I know she's sweet when you first talk to her, I get it. But whatever she said, it's not worth losing your brother over."

I looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Don't pursue this. I know you want to, I can tell. But she's involved with your brother and I have seen her break up even the closest of friends. So – no, don't look at me like that, I _know _you haven't done anything yet, alright?" He shook his head and took a deep breath. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't planning anything."

"Of course I'm not. I've never been one to fall for cheap tricks-"

"Then they weren't cheap tricks." I looked at him, one eyebrow raised. His eyes were fixated on something beyond me. He shook his head and looked at me. "I don't know what the _hell _she said to you, but I have _never_ seen a reaction like yours."

Leaning against the wall, I asked, "A reaction like mine? And what does that mean?"

"It means…" he paused, lost in thought. "Look, every other poor soul who's ever fallen for that girl is…obsessed with her. And you just look at her, questioningly, as if you want to _talk _to her. I don't think she has any idea how to handle that."

There was silence for a few moments. Then, the door opened and Lillian stopped in the doorway, seeing the two of us.

"Oh – pardon me – I have the graveyard shift today…"

She passed us and left. I looked after her.

Then, finally, Roy said, "Tell me what she said to you."

Still looking at the door Lillian had disappeared, I replied, "No. That's between me and Becca."

And I turned and went back into the room, leaving the door open. Roy stood in the doorway; when Tom saw his father standing there, he jumped off the piano bench and put his arms up. Roy pulled him into his arms and said, "Come on, it's way past your bedtime, little guy…" They left.

Shauna yawned, then laughed. "Same goes for me, I guess. Goodnight Winnie, 'night Ed." Winnie and I both said goodnight to her, and she left.

Neither of us said anything for a moment. Now that I knew Roy had noticed, I knew that Winnie was going to bring it up any second now. Her voice sounded in my head. _I told you so. I warned you what she would do._

Then, my thoughts were broken as Winnie hit a single white piano key. The note sounded strangely off. "This piano's been out of tune for a long time now. I keep telling myself we'll find someone to fix it, but I always forget." Slowly, she stood up and pushed the bench back under the piano. "You should get going," she said. "It is pretty late." I nodded. She kissed me on the cheek. "Goodnight."

She left the room. I stood there for a moment, alone. Then, shaking my head, I left.

Lying in bed in the dark later that night, I closed my eyes and shut everything out. Everything. I didn't think of Becca, or Al, or Winnie, or anything at all. I fell asleep with my mind completely blank.

The dream started with a woman standing alone in the dark, in a white wedding dress. There was a veil covering her face. I reached out, and as I lifted the veil, she raised her hands and encircled my wrists gently with her slim fingers. The veil was lifted. Becca smiled at me.

But the second I saw her face, I was being pulled backward, away from her, until I couldn't see anything and the moving stopped. I started to run. I ran and ran in the darkness, but I couldn't tell if I was going anywhere. And then the voices began.

_"It's not worth losing your brother over."_

_"She tells me she loves me, but…"_

_"Why don't you care? Why don't you give a damn?"_

_"…what we have here is what we are forever."_

_"You are going to be happy… You will love again."_

I awoke with a start, Noa's soft voice still echoing in my mind. Sitting up in bed, I tried to recall her voice, but it was slipping away. I squeezed my eyes shut tight and pressed the palms of my hands onto my eyes, but all I could remember were the words. Her voice, the feel of her lips at my ear, it was gone, it was all gone.

Noa…

When she said those words to me, was she giving me her blessing? Was she saying to me, it's okay, move on, or was she reading my future, like she'd done a million times, for hundreds of nameless strangers before I even knew her?

And how could I let myself feel _anything_ for Becca after refusing to allow myself to be happy with Winnie?

If Noa had been there, she would only have had to touch me to understand how I felt. Having to sort out my own thoughts without her was so much harder.

Eventually, my eyes closed and I faded back into sleep.

The next day, Winnie didn't say a word about Becca, like I expected her too. She smiled and laughed and acted normally, but there was no hint of derision in the way she looked at me. I wondered why.

There was a knock at the door in the middle of the afternoon that day. Riza answered it. To my surprise, a few seconds later, Becca was standing in the doorway of the room I was in, something wrapped in paper stuffed into her small bag.

She strode up to me and said lowly, "You need to explain something to me."

Winnie didn't even look at me.

"What is it?" I asked, glancing at Winnie.

Becca jerked her head in the direction of the door. I sighed and stood up, then followed her out into the hallway, where she pulled the thing wrapped in paper out of her bag.

"What is this?" she asked, and as she handed it to me, the paper fell away, and I saw the wooden transmutation circle that I had given Al for Christmas what felt like centuries ago.

"This is Al's…" I murmured, taking the thing and glancing up at her.

She nodded. "He was in his study for the whole night with that thing. His desk is covered with different drawings of it. He's buried himself in his journals and he won't tell me a thing. I don't think… I don't think he trusts me anymore."

_He's finally caught on?_ I wanted to say, but instead I asked, "Did something happen?"

She didn't look away, nor did she look guilty. "I did something I shouldn't have, but that doesn't matter. What is he doing?"

I handed the thing back to her, thinking hard. He's tried alchemy before in this world. It doesn't work. It wouldn't work. So why was he obsessing over it anymore?

She looked at me, searching my face, and her eyes looked liquid, they were so full and dark. I couldn't tear my gaze away from them.

"Edward," she said quietly. "You haven't answered me."

"He… he's… I don't really…"

Words were only half-forming in my head, and I was somewhere else entirely as she leaned in, too close, far too close to me.

"Edward," she repeated, patiently. "Do you have an answer for me?"

Before my lips could even form the word _no_, she was pressing hers against them. It wasn't a long kiss; she pulled back a second later and whispered, "What is he doing?"

As my brother's face flashed in my mind, common sense came rushing back to me. I pushed away from Becca, shaking my head.

"What the hell!" I muttered, shaking my head. "How can you come here asking about him and then do _that!_"

She just looked at me with big, brown eyes.

I asked, "Did you ever love him? Or have you been leading him on this whole time?"

"Of course I loved him," she sniffed. "He's a fascinating man, underneath everything… else."

"What about now?"

She was silent for a few minutes. Then, in lieu of an explanation, she said, "He's trying to write another book. He says, once he finishes it, it'll be even more popular than his last one."

Something clicked in my brain. I asked, "And what if it isn't? What if he never becomes successful?"

She shrugged. "Heartbreak isn't fatal."

Shaking my head, I told her, "You're disgusting."

"Then why did you let me kiss you?"

"You… distracted me."

She threw her head back and laughed, exposing the porcelain skin of her throat. "Don't kid yourself," she said arrogantly. "The only reason you want me is because of your brother."

About to turn and leave her, I looked back at her. "What?"

She replaced the circle in her bag. "I've seen it again and again," she sighed. "He gets one thing, one teeny tiny thing, and you're jealous. You've always been more fortunate than him, so when he gets a lucky break," she stuck out her bottom lip in a faux pout, "it's bad news for you. Because he doesn't need you anymore, and you just _hate _that, don't you?"

"Who the hell do you think you're-"

"Look at you," she whispered, brushing a single finger across my face. "You're green with envy."

My hand shot out of its own accord and grasped her wrist in a vice-like grip. "Never," I hissed, "_ever_ say that to me again."

She grinned and her lips crashed against mine again. I retreated a few steps backward. "Stop!" I said, and my voice rang around the house. Winnie's gentle piano playing from the other room ceased.

Becca grinned giddily again, despite the fact that I felt like I was about to break her nose. "Tell me what he's playing at," she muttered. "I've lived with a crazy man before, I just thought that maybe he had a method to his madness." She swept her hair back out of her face. "You know something, tell me or I'll keep kissing you."

"No, I-"

She threw herself forward again, but this time I was ready. I caught her by the shoulders. "What if I tell Al about this?"

"Tell him," she said. "I dare you. It won't matter. I have him wrapped around my finger. He's a weak man, to tell the truth. I wondered the first night we spent together, am I the first woman he's ever had, he seemed so shy-"

"Don't talk about him that way," I said cuttingly, before she could continue.

"Don't be such a prude," she taunted, her hands brushing across my chest. "You should have heard Winry talk about _you_." She giggled girlishly. "The way she told it, I wouldn't mind a night or two in your-"

"Get out."

I turned around. Winnie, her fists clenched, her eyes filled with hate, was staring at Becca, who smirked.

"Oh, not you too," said Becca. "Whatever happened to best friends, dear Winry?" Still standing behind me, she put her hands on my shoulders, then my neck, then she gently cupped both sides of my head. I removed her hands, but she just put them back. I stepped forward, out of her reach.

"Get _out_."

"This isn't your house," said Becca, stepped forwards to touch me again. I shook her off. "You have no right-"

"This is where I draw the line."

Roy's voice came from behind Becca. She let go of me immediately and turned to face him. "And what do you have to say to me?" she asked lightly.

"I can't do a thing about that poor boy you're living with," he said dangerously. "But I have told you before: I will not allow you to act this way under my roof. So I suggest you follow Winnie's advice."

Becca looked at Winnie, then back at Roy, then at me. She knew she couldn't sway all of us this time. I could see it in her eyes. But the fear disappeared when she made eye contact with me, and that same sick smile returned.

She looked at straight at Roy, then quietly uttered the words, "Make me."

Winnie launched herself at the other girl, knocking her off her feet. It wasn't until Winnie had Becca pinned against the ground, shouting, punching her, and pulling her hair while Becca shrieked with something frighteningly close to laughter that Roy and I were able to react. Roy pulled Winnie off of Becca and tried to restrain her. She was screaming profanities and threats at the top of her lungs. Becca made as if to run at Winnie, but I put my arms around hers so she wasn't able to get away. Instead of struggling, however, she arched her back away from me and made a sound halfway between a moan and a chuckle. I loosened my grip and she managed to turn around and lock her hands around my head, causing our lips to collide. With as much force as I could manage, I pushed her away. She was thrown violently to the ground.

There was an icy silence. Becca put a hand gingerly to her eye, where an ugly bruise was already forming. She grinned. "That's all I needed," she said, standing up and dusting herself off. Without picking up her bag, she strode out the door.

"God _dammit,_" screeched Winnie, as Roy released her. "She played me for a fool!"

"I don't blame you," I said. "I was about to do the same thing."

Roy shook his head, running a hand over his face. "I wish she wouldn't," he sighed. "I wish she'd just leave it alone." He rubbed his temples, then glanced at me. "You handled it very well, thank you, Ed."

"While I, on the other hand, completely fell for it, again," said Winnie glumly. "_Dammit._"

"She wanted a bruise," I murmured thoughtfully. "But why?"

"Pity, probably," replied Roy. "If she goes back and she's bruised, what's your brother going to give her? Attention, that's what. It's all she ever wanted."

Roy turned and left, and I heard Riza ask him a few worried questions. Winnie, grinding her teeth, stomped upstairs to her room, like an angry teenager.

I knelt down and reached for Becca's bag. She had left the wooden transmutation circle. The white paper fell away and the light wood was exposed. The circle had broken cleanly in two.

Taking the pieces with me, I straightened up and turned to leave. Just as I got to the door, however, someone said gently, "Ed…"

I turned around. Anne was standing there, just outside the doorway of the kitchen, gingerly favoring one leg over the other.

Distractedly, I asked, "What is it?"

Her eyes darted at the ground, then at the door behind me, then at my shoulder, something I had become accustomed to when talking to Anne. Still, in the state that I was, I found it irritating. "Anne, what _is_ it?"

"I heard what – what Becca said," she said softly, so softly I could barely hear her. "Her words – she's always used her words like – just like knives. She's never really been cl–close to me, but you need to remember," her voice got slightly stronger, "she's still just one of us, and, and she can hide behind her words all she wants but the truth is she's scared and, and unsure and doesn't honest – honestly know how to… act."

I shook my head impatiently. "Yeah. That's exactly what she wants you to think."

Anne finally met my gaze. "That doesn't mean it isn't true."

For a long, long moment, I stood there, frowning at Anne. She dropped her gaze, shook her head, and shambled back into the kitchen. I stood there for half a second, then shook my head gently and left the house.

I was so sick of hearing about Becca. Winnie, Roy and now Anne? I didn't want to be told what to think about her. It was clear how she felt and how she had taken advantage of me, and Al, and Winnie, and everyone else. And there was nothing I could do about it; she was right, she had Al wrapped around her finger. I didn't want to see him hurt but… what choice did I have?

Maybe if I moved, far away from them all, I wouldn't have to see how things unfold. I could escape from everything once again, and I could write letters and they could write letters and I would never have to see them again. But I couldn't do that to myself, could I? There was no way I would be able to leave it all again.

As I headed back to the small, dim apartment that was my home, a headache began pounding in my temples.

I set the splintered transmutation circle down on the tiny table, and went to splash my face with water. I wiped my face with a clean rag, and then noticed exactly what I had laid the wooden circle on.

It was a worn book, with a dark cover and four shining words on the front.

_Amestris._

_By Alphonse Elric._

With a quiet laugh, I reached down and picked the book up, flipped through the pages. Memories and names jumped out at me. For a second I was lost in earlier times, times that were not exactly happier, but when I was younger. When nothing could shake the few things I knew were true.

And now, what is true? Al gave himself completely to Becca. She gained him, but was has she lost? Nothing.

I set the book down again with a sigh. Then I saw the broken transmutation circle again.

Out of old time's sake, I touched my hands together lightly in a clap and set the tips of my fingers on the wooden objection. Nothing happened.

I hadn't expected much, but it was still a disappointment.

**--------------------****--------------------**

One of my favorite chapters so far.

**I updated the Author's Note on my profile. Once again, you don't have to read it, it simply helps me organize my thoughts on the chapters. **

Thanks so much for reading! Constructive criticism, anyone?


	24. Pity

Chapter Twenty-Four: Pity

There were four angry red marks on Winnie's cheek, where Becca had scraped her fingernails down her face. Winnie didn't try to cover the marks; instead, she just ignored them, except for times when she thought no one was looking, when she would grimace and caress them gently, wincing in pain.

None of us heard anything from Al or Becca for a few days. Not that I cared about Becca… I just wanted to know about Al.

Margaret was thriving on the gossip. She grinned and discussed the whole scenario endlessly with Louisa, who insisted on being filled in on everything that had happened, before she arrived at the house.

Helena took to watching Anne draw, which Anne was now doing constantly. Irene had insisted that Anne draw another illustration, this time on Irene's own wall, and Helena would sit on the bed for hours at a time, silently watching the process. Anne told me later that she never honestly thought Helena was watching. Just thinking.

Fiona was getting worse and worse, everyday. She would shout and scream from her room, and when we tried to help her, she just looked past us, a frightened expression on her face, screaming at something that we could not see. Lillian was slowly working up enough money to go back to England. Shauna was quieter, and kept giving me borderline accusatory looks. I didn't know what to say to her.

Roy came up to me one day, that familiar shifty look upon his face, and I rolled my eyes, knowing what was coming.

"One last time," he said. "Come with me, one last time, and I promise I'll never ask again."

"I don't mind going," I replied. "It's really not a big deal."

"Right. Well. One week from now, just for the usual few days. Does that work?"

"Yeah. It's fine."

He grinned and clapped me on the back. "Thanks, Ed. I owe you way too much." And he left.

These stupid, 'government' rocket trips always made Roy jittery, with excitement and some sick mixture of fear. Winnie just shook her head, with an odd look on her face.

She told me, "You know what? I think it reminds him of the war. That's why he's always so anxious about it. He doesn't talk much about what happened over there, but…he's a soldier, and he always had been. He just had to mellow out to have this family, and he's proud of that, but as much as he hates it, he just can't stay away from that mystery and what he thinks is danger." She glanced at me, then smiled. "Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," I replied. "I – well, I think it does."

"That's just all I've ever guessed about him, though," she said with a grin. "I mean, it's not as if he's ever, ever talked to me about it. Like he would." I looked at her, and she shook her head. "I'm not complaining. It's just a fact."

She said nothing more about that. Later, while I was still there, Lillian burst into the room shrieking with delight. When we calmed her down enough to speak, she held out a letter, tears in her eyes. Her grandparents had sent her the letter, offering to let her stay with them when she returned to England, and with enough money to bring her safely back. "I'm going home," she whispered. "Finally…"

There was much hugging and Margaret even managed to squeeze out a fake tear or two. Quiet congratulations continued after Lillian left the room, and she quit her job and began to make plans for her trip back. Things were looking up, at least for this family.

It wasn't until a day or two later that I talked to Al again. It was dark, and I was trying to drown out the suffocating silence of my small apartment, when there was a knock at the door.

When I opened it, Al was standing there, holding a worn notebook. "Hello," he said, and his voice cracked.

"Al – what is it?" There was an uncomfortable expression on his face.

"It's… nothing. Nothing. Can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course."

He slipped in and sat down on the small sofa, laying the notebook out on the tiny table in front of him, as if he didn't want to touch it any longer than he had to. Then he looked up at me.

"Did… did you hit Becca?"

I stared at him. "What?"

He sighed reluctantly, as if steadying himself. "She came home a few nights ago, and she was badly bruised. She wouldn't tell me anything. But…I heard her crying. And today, I asked her again and she finally told me…" He paused. "Well, she told me it had something to do with you."

I stared at him. "_Me?_"

He nodded. "I know that she can be…upsetting at times, but please, Ed. Don't screw this up for me."

"You're telling _me _not to screw things up?" I asked incredulously. "Al, _she _was the one who kissed _me_-"

"You _kissed _her?"

His shocked voice rang in my ears, and on his face was first an expression of blank surprise, then, a grimace of something like betrayal. "You kissed her?" he asked again.

I shook my head hurriedly. "No, no, it wasn't like that-"

"So you didn't kiss her."

"Well – no – I mean, yes."

He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"She kissed _me_!" I exclaimed. "That's what I'm trying to tell you! I didn't want her to; do you honestly think I would do that to you? Come on, Al, you know me better than that."

"No, you just like to think you're better than that," he argued, a heated tone in his voice. "Because, you know what, you're right. I do know you." He stood up, began to pace, a manic look in his eye. "Do you know when you made your first mistake, Ed? When you brought me back."

Slowly, I turned to him. "What are you talking about?"

"You were alive, you were whole," he said, his voice shaking. "And yet you decided to gamble it all on the off chance that you might be able to save me, again. No one's that lucky, Ed."

I wanted to say, "Well, apparently I am," but I didn't think that would help the situation.

"No one," he repeated, shaking his head. "And you failed, didn't you? You didn't bring me back. Not the way I was supposed to be."

He stopped pacing for a moment, and stared at his hands. I could see them trembling.

"No, no," he continued, shaking his head more violently, as if trying to rid himself of a train of thought. "The thing is, I knew what I was doing, when I brought you back. A Philosopher's Stone alone is not enough to restore a soul to a body, Tucker showed me that when he tried to bring Nina back to life. No. Life isn't fair, not at all, but death… death is fair, isn't it? It claims us all in the end." A deep, shuddering breath. "A soul for a soul. My body was already gone. Your life was already halfway paid for. The decision… it was easier than I thought it was going to be. I didn't allow myself time to think. Everything was-"

"Al, stop." I stood up. "I'm not just going to sit here and listen to this. It's over, it's in the past, isn't that what you've been saying this whole time?"

"The past," said Al, "is a dangerous thing."

I raised an eyebrow. He shook his head, but before he could say anything else, I continued, "Do you really think I don't already know this, Al? I'm your brother. I get it. I did the same for you, remember?"

"No!" he burst out. "No, you didn't! You didn't, not at all! You didn't spend four years with metal for skin! Your life never depended on a seal of blood in a suit of armor! You didn't _die!_"

There was a tense, pressing silence. It felt like, at any moment, the very air could explode and throw us back with the raw, crackling energy in the atmosphere.

"I didn't die?" I asked quietly.

"You came here," he explained lamely.

"That's not fair-" I began to protest, but he held up a hand for silence.

"If I ever were to believe in some kind of higher power, some kind of God," he said softly, "I would say He took pity on you. But I know you refuse to believe that, and I don't think it works the same if you don't believe it will."

There was more silence. Then, I said, "I'm sorry."

He smiled tightly. "I'm not done yet."

We looked at each other for a long time. I could see something in his eyes, and his lips were pursed, as if he was trying as hard as he could not to say more. I tore my eyes from his gaze and muttered, "Go on."

Almost uneasily, he continued, "I…I had to cross into this world before I remembered why I had sacrificed myself for you. It was because I had seen you die. You don't know what that's like." He shivered, and closed his eyes, squeezed them tight, then opened them again. "When I forgot, I believed you were alive and that I could somehow find you again. If I had remembered that I was there when your heart _stopped_, how could I have found you again? You were dead, and I knew it, I was there. But I forgot. And so now… this."

He shrugged hopelessly at the dim apartment. "Yeah," I agreed. "This."

Silence.

I asked him, "There's nothing I can say to make this any better, is there?"

He almost smiled, and shook his head. "No. But we're grown-ups now, so let's try to act the part."

A pause, and then I said, "How exactly do grown-ups act, again?"

He laughed, a real laugh. Abrupt, but real. "How am I supposed to know? You're the older brother, after all."

"Yeah," I replied. "But you've always been the better one."

There was an awkward silence. He was pale, and had been pale since he stepped into the room. His clothes didn't exactly fit him, as if he had lost a lot of weight in a short time. I asked, "Are you _still_ sick?"

"No," he told me, simply, and he said no more.

Finally, he shook his head. "I should go. Read the journal." He pointed to the notebook on the table. "It's important."

He turned to leave. Just as he opened the door, I called, "Wait."

He looked back at me.

Truthfully, I told him, "Winnie and Becca got into a fight. She was hitting her pretty hard. That's where the bruises are from."

Thoughtfully, carefully, he nodded. "Is Winnie okay?" He stumbled slightly over Winnie's name, as if he was trying not to say Winry.

"She's fine," I replied. "A little shaken up, but that always happens when Becca comes over. To be honest… Becca didn't fight back too much."

I thought he understood what I didn't say, because, his face unreadable, he nodded. "She's like that, sometimes. The journal," he said again, nodding to the notebook. And then, he was gone.

I didn't know what to do after that. Al had just confessed to me something he had never spoken of before. The second the door closed behind him, I thought of a million things I could have said. But I hadn't said anything, and, he was right, we'd acted like adults, exactly as we should have.

Something dark and deep seemed to slither beneath my thoughts in a menacing sort of way. A sense of disquiet, of apprehension had been left in the air. Al hadn't told me everything. I could feel it; it was a heavy, subliminal feeling in the back of my mind, like someone was pressing their hand to my head. I may not have known my brother as well as I had believed, but I knew him well enough to know when there was something wrong. And there was something very, very wrong.

I picked up the notebook. I flipped through it once, twice. His familiar, untidy scrawl covered every single page. I closed it, then took it to my room and, in the light of the lamp next to my bed, tried to decipher what it said.

After two lines, my brain felt tired and my eyelids drooped. Unable to fully comprehend what I had just read in the state that I was in, I allowed myself to drift into sleep.

_…You didn't bring me back. Not the way I was supposed to be._

I sat straight up in bed. Sunlight streamed in through my window, so I knew it must be morning… I looked around for Al's notebook. It was on the floor, where I had discarded it the night before. I reached for it, picked it up, looked at it, my eyes lingering a minute too long. Then, I shook my head and put it aside, because I had work to go to, a life to get back to. I didn't need to sit there all day, remembering the past that Al had so carefully chronicled in that damn notebook.

For a long moment, time I could have spent reading what Al had written, I sat there in bed, wondering where things were going. There was no way to see the future; there was no way to stop time. I knew wondering wouldn't help, but I still sat there, my thoughts moving sluggishly, trying to connect something that just wasn't there…

Shaking my head and ignoring the enigmatic thoughts roiling just beneath the surface, I got up, and left, to Winnie and Roy and the life that I now had.

When I saw Roy that day, I said, "You were right about Becca." He raised an eyebrow in question. "She told Al I hit her."

Roy nodded. "That definitely sounds like her. Did you clear that up?"

I glanced at Winnie. "Yeah. I did."

"I don't regret hurting her," said Winnie coolly. "I hope she's in pain."

"There's no need to be cruel-"

"Oh, shut up, Roy," she told him, rolling her eyes. "Even you can't deny she's a little bitch." Roy said nothing, only pursed his lips slightly and left the room. Winnie looked at me. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," I replied, shaking my head. "My brother's just being… odd."

She laughed. "I know what _that's _like."

Just then, Lillian slid into the room. She smiled at me. "Hello."

I said, "I thought you had a ship to catch."

She shook her head wistfully. "It doesn't leave for four more days." She added, "Not that I'm in a hurry to leave you, it's just…" She shrugged. "I want to go home."

Winnie continued to talk to her. I looked out the window. Frost was gathering on the corners of the glass. It had been more than a year since Al and I arrived in America, and instead of moving forward, we seemed to have jumped a few steps backward; we were separated, like I promised we would never be again. He sacrificed himself so that we could live in the same world, but was it _enough_ to be in the same world? He wasn't a crucial part of my life anymore, just a brother who I loved who stayed on the sidelines. We had expected to be friends, just like we were when we were searching for the Stone.

It's funny. Now that we're happy, and we have our bodies back and regular lives that we've always wanted, we're still not as close as we were during the years when we had no home, no life, nothing. I never would have expected this.

Later, when Margaret stopped me to chat about some small piece of interesting news she heard lately, the front door opened and closed, and Shauna appeared. Margaret turned and asked slyly, "Where have you been?"

Shauna said, "Nowhere," then looked me once up and down, and rolled her eyes and marched up the stairs to her room.

I looked back at Margaret. "What did I do?"

"Oh, I'm sure she's not mad at you _personally_," sighed Margaret. "I think she talked to Becca, so she has quite a twisted view on everything that's going on right now." She paused, thinking. "Actually, she probably is mad at you personally. Becca doesn't seem to like you very much, does she?" Before I could mumble a reply, Margaret laughed and said, "You know what? Go work your magic on Shauna. You'll be doing everyone a favor if you can manage to calm her down."

I eyed the staircase wearily. Margaret pushed me a little. "Do it," she said. "Please?"

Shaking my head, I said, "Fine," and went up to Shauna's room.

I knocked on her door once, twice, three times. There was the quiet sound of glass breaking and then a muffled, "_Dammit._"

She opened the door with her elbows, because her palms were covered in ink. There was a spot of black on the floor, where an inkpot had smashed. With a glowering look, she said, "What."

There was a smear of blood on the top of her wrist. "Did you cut yourself on the glass?" I asked.

She wiped her inky hands on the wall next to the door. "Yeah. But it's not bad."

"What are you doing?" I asked. She shrugged.

"Pretending I have talent."

I raised an eyebrow at her. She shook her head. "It's nothing. Trying to draw, I should have said. Anyway, that doesn't matter. Why are you here?"

"I just wanted to know why you're suddenly so unhappy. Margaret said-"

She interrupted me by kicking the wall, hard. "Oh, Ed. I know you hate her, but sometimes I wish I could be like Becca and just get the hell out of this place." I said nothing. She was still for a second, then took a deep breath and continued, "Sorry. I just don't like being told what to do."

"And who's telling you what to do?"

She let out a little grunt of laughter. "Are you kidding me? Ed, I'm fourteen years old. _Everyone_ is telling me what to do." She paused. Then, "Becca told me to leave her alone."

With her index finger, she touched the wound on her wrist, inspecting it. Her index finger was still covered with ink, and when he took her finger away, there were dark remnants of ink mingling with the red blood.

"Why did she do that?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from the open cut.

"Because she's stupid," Shauna replied simply. I said nothing more, and she shook her head and corrected herself. "No, I don't know why. I think she's getting serious about your brother, though I can't see why. He seems kind of pathetic to me."

"Hey," I said mildly, reminding her that it was my brother she was talking about.

She glanced at me. "Sorry. I have yet to master those silly _manners _everyone keeps talking about." There was a hint of a smile on her face now.

"It's okay. I know you don't mean it."

She made a face as if to say, _I did too mean it_, but she was just acting like the child she was, so I let it slip.

"Does Becca really mean that much to you?" I asked her. She shrugged.

"She's what I want to be in a few years. Beautiful, smart and totally in control of her own life." She smiled wistfully. "She always gets what she wants, because she knows how to play her cards. I wish she would teach me how she does it."

I shook my head, disappointed. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

"I just thought you were better than that."

Anger flickered across her face, and she snorted with derisive laughter, but she said nothing. I said nothing either, and eventually she spoke again. "Becca was on the streets for a long time, right? Maybe, if I followed in her footsteps…"

"Shauna, no," I said. "No, don't even talk like that. You don't want to be like Becca. Trust me."

She stared at me blankly for a moment, her crystalline eyes focused on mine. Then her upper lip twitched upwards in an expression of disgust, and she slowly looked me up and down again. Finally, she said, "Yeah. _Nobody's _telling me what to do, right?"

Before I could answer, she slammed the door shut, the sarcastic note in her voice still ringing in my ears.

I stood there for a moment, then there was a quiet little cough from behind me. Anne stood outside of Daley's room, her hand on the doorknob. She just looked at me for a minute, as if trying to say, _It's okay._ There was something deep and caring in her eyes. But after a moment, something strangely close to a smile appeared on her face and she went into Daley's room, leaving me standing there alone in the hallway.

That night, I saw Al's notebook next to my bed and didn't want to read it, not at all. But he had asked me to, and even if we were barely talking at all anymore, I still owed it to him, right?

It took me a few hours to decipher all of Al's slanted, untidy handwriting, but finally I reached the last page.

_Each person, in any and every world, has a Gate within themselves, which can be opened and can be closed. This is what supplies the energy for alchemy. Alchemy does not work in the dangerous dull world that is this one, but there is still a Gate within every person. If it is possible to open that Gate, and, instead of reaching across worlds for energy, keep the Gate open, expand the Gate within oneself, couldn't one, in essence, become the Gate? Only with an extremely powerful substance could this ever occur. A substance that exists in only one place in this world, a substance I have described in detail with a thousand words in many different journals. But now these words are gathered together, in one place, and I know what I must do._

_If Equivalent Exchange is correct, is right, is the one law of the universe- then I deserve this, and this will work._

_If Equivalent Exchange is a lie, and one gains nothing from everything and everything from nothing- this will still work. It must._

Slowly, I closed the notebook.

I stared at it disbelievingly.

Al couldn't believe this. He simply couldn't. It was too far-fetched.

That uneasy, manic look in his eye came back to me. A quiet fear rose like a snake inside of me.

He was going to open the Gate.

**--------------------****--------------------**

The beginning of the end. Sorry it took so long. What do you think?


	25. Goodbyes

Chapter Twenty-Five: Goodbyes

It was dark; it was the middle of the night, but that didn't matter. I was afraid of what Al might be doing, and in the shadows, my mind conjured up foul images of what might result. As quickly as I could, I got dressed and, taking the notebook, headed towards where Al now lived with Becca.

Could this really be possible? Pages and pages of explanations, calculations, tediously written out in the small notebook. Some of it made sense. Some of it… _most_ of it didn't. How could he believe something as outlandish as this? That he had the power to openthe Gate?

Fear struck again in the pit of my stomach. He didn't just want to open the Gate, he wanted to _become_ the Gate, isn't that what he had written? How ridiculous, how stupid of him to believe that.

All the same, my biggest concern was that it would work, and Al would be lost.

It still didn't make sense, but I had to talk to Al, to convince him it wouldn't work, and that he needed to stop thinking these delusional, dangerous thoughts. In the darkness, I could barely see a thing, but suddenly I was there, on the street where Al lived. There was nothing unusual about the street. There was no evidence that a transmutation had occurred, or that the Gate had been opened. He hadn't done it. Not yet.

I knocked on the door, loudly, interrupting the heavy silence of the night. There was no sound from within, so I knocked again, and again, and again. Finally, a light switched on inside. I held my breath.

Becca opened the door, in a thin, short nightdress. "What are you doing here?" she asked groggily.

"I need to speak to Al," I told her.

Tired as she was, she still managed to smirk and say, "Don't you want to talk to _me_, Edward, love?"

"I don't have the time for this!" I replied loudly. "Rebecca, I have to speak with my brother!"

A door opened and closed behind her. My gaze moved over her shoulder. Al was standing in the hallway. "Go back to bed," he said, addressing Becca and walking toward us.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her hands suddenly on his face, his neck, his chest, caressing him tenderly. Her voice was soft and concerned. He took one of her hands, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I'm sure," he replied, and she looked between us once, then left.

For a while, we stood there silently. Then Al looked at the notebook in my hand. "You read it?" he asked me.

I nodded, and the panic ebbed away slightly. "Do you really believe this?"

He looked at me carefully for a minute, then, slowly, he replied, "Yes. I do. Do you understand it, really? At surface level it sounds preposterous but when you stop to think-"

"It still doesn't make sense," I finished for him. "You know as well as I do that there's nothing, _nothing_ that could make this work. You're just tired, and, I don't know, unhappy, or something, and all you need is to calm down and stop thinking crazy-"

"But it's not crazy," he told me quietly. "Did you even read it? It's not crazy at all. It makes perfect sense, when you stop to consider all the variables."

I just looked at him.

He glanced around, leaned in and lowered his voice. "There is something, maybe the only thing in the world, that could make this work. And I think you know what that is."

I looked at the notebook, and then thought back to what was written in it. "An extremely powerful substance… what, like a bomb?"

He shook his head. "No. Something that, as I said, exists in only one place in this world." He put a hand on his chest, above his heart. "Something that is in my possession."

I stared at him, completely lost.

"Come on," he muttered. "You know where this is going."

Blankly, I searched for an explanation in my mind. Nothing made sense, not even with Al's twisted way of thinking.

Unless…

"Oh, no," I said. "Oh, no, no, no. You wouldn't… there is no way… Are you really suggesting that you," I paused, letting the shock wash over me, "that you have a _Philosopher's Stone?_"

He smiled bitterly. "No," he replied. "Well, yes, in a sense. I've been thinking about it, since I remembered, in all those journals. Ed," he said, "I _am _the Philosopher's Stone."

There was silence. I think he realized how ridiculous his words sounded, because his expression faltered slightly.

"You're insane," I told him.

"No, I'm not," he sighed. "Don't you remember? I was made into the Philosopher's Stone, Scar did it. I thought that was how I brought you back. But I gave up all of my body and my soul to bring you back, and so the Stone, or a portion of it, at least, should have been preserved. Right?"

"But Al," I said cautiously. "You lost the Stone when you got your body back. It – well, if anywhere, the Stone must have been left with the armor, wherever that is now."

Al shook his head. "But don't you understand? My soul was attached to the armor by that blood seal, and that blood seal was on the armor, _part_ of the armor, and I could not have survived without it. So, my soul_ was _the armor, or at least the blood seal on it, and that means when the Stone was created, it was part of me, inside my metal body, attached to the blood seal, and therefore attached to my soul. And when you – when you pulled me back from the Gate, my mind may have forgotten things but that doesn't mean they didn't happen. My soul was undamaged; a part, however small, had to still be attached. And that's all I need. Just enough to fuel a single transmutation."

"You've got to be joking."

"I'm dead serious."

There was silence. Hesitantly, I began, "But that doesn't make sense-"

"Why not?" he asked me. "Try to find the flaws. Taking into account what the Philosopher's Stone is, how you attached my soul to the armor, and what you did when you brought me back, the whole thing makes perfect sense. Why shouldn't it work?"

"Have you tested it?"

His gaze flickered away and then back to my face. "No. But that's because I don't want to waste any of the Stone. I'll need all of it if we want to go back home."

I was reminded of the fear I had felt earlier. "_We?_ But aren't you implying that you want to turn yourself into the Gate, which means you would be unable to go through?"

Now, in the silence, Al finally looked uncertain. Panicked, almost.

"I said _someone_," he mumbled. "Not necessarily myself."

"You can't-" I began instantly, my whole mind immediately erupting into protests. "Al, you can't really expect someone to sacrifice themselves for this." He shook his head, but before he spoke, I continued, "And if you're thinking that you could do it without their consent, then let me just remind you that that is the equivalent of killing someone. I don't want you turning into a murderer on a hunch that it just maybe might open the Gate."

Thoughtfully, he leaned against the doorway. "What if that person is dying already?" he asked.

"We're all dying already," I replied. "Every second we're closer to death."

He shook his head. "But what if someone is in pain? And what if, by living, all they do is spread their pain and, and their hate, into the world?"

"That's selfish," I said. "To use someone's, anyone's, death to fuel your own-"

I stopped talking, finally realizing what that strange, almost scared look in his eye meant.

"You want to use Becca," I said, and it wasn't a question.

"I don't _want _to," he said, without skipping a beat. "But she's dying, and she does nothing good in the world – no, see, I'm not an idiot. I know that she's using me and that she doesn't love me at all." He looked past me. "That doesn't stop me from loving her, and I hate that power she has over me." He shook his head violently. "I don't want to kill her! I don't want to kill anybody! If she could just… there must be a way that someone could become the Gate and still live. But that's ridiculous-"

"Yes, it is," I interrupted angrily, but he ignored me.

"That's ridiculous, because there would be too much power in one place. The equations don't work out." He looked at me. "So, I don't know what to do. I know how to get back, but I can't bring myself to do it. I thought, for a while, that I could turn myself into the Gate, to get you back, but I decided I've sacrificed too much, and I refuse to let myself die again. Like you said, it's a selfish choice-"

"No," I said. "_That_ isn't selfish. That's just human."

He smiled and shook his head. "_Just _human. You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Maybe it is," I replied, shrugging. "Maybe human isn't good enough."

His expression soured, turned into something between disbelief and disgust. "You're saying I was better off the way I was before?"

"You were still human, Al, no matter what your body looked like. And yes, it does make sense that you want to go back. But what I don't understand is why _now?_ Why couldn't you have thought of this a year ago, when I was ready to _kill myself_ to go back?"

My voice rose while I said this, and, over Al's shoulder, I saw a door open slightly and Becca appear in the hallway, standing silently. Al followed my gaze and turned around. "Go back to bed," he repeated dryly.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, sounding frightened.

"Nothing," I said.

"We're almost done," he told her. "Just give us a minute."

She nodded and then, slowly, disappeared into the room again.

His voice was very, very quiet when he continued, but there was something burning behind his eyes. "I didn't want to go back," he said. "I had a life, a future here. I wanted to live here. I had thought about this theory a lot, yes, but never really considered it, because I thought we might manage to finally become normal here. And for a while, it seemed like we could." He stopped talking suddenly, and closed his eyes. It took him a long moment to gather the courage to speak again. "But we can't," he whispered. "And there is nothing that ties us here anymore. I don't want to be jerked around anymore. I want to go home."

"But…" I shook my head. "But what about the University? What about your book?"

He smiled again, softer now. "I've published one. That's enough, isn't it? I've left my mark on this world. I won't leave it unchanged." He paused, looking almost ashamed. "Besides, the University's decided they don't have a place for me anymore."

I stared at him. "They kicked you out?"

He shrugged. "More or less."

I was shocked into silence. "But… I thought…"

"It doesn't matter anyway," he said, feigning nonchalance. "It's my own fault."

"What happened?"

"I hadn't been contributing, I hadn't been attending. The usual, I guess." I found myself looking at the spot where Becca had been standing earlier. "It wasn't her fault. Please don't look like that."

"When?" I asked, something like anger starting to boil in the pit of my stomach. The University was the reason we _came _to America… He shrugged again. Obviously, he didn't want to tell me. I let out a frustrated sigh. "_Al_… the reason we… why can't… I thought you _wanted _this."

"I don't know," he replied. "I honestly don't know at all. I can't think straight, not ever anymore. I don't know what's wrong with me."

He looked worried, scared. I swallowed the anger I felt for him. "Nothing's wrong with you," I reassured him. "Just calm down, okay? Don't do anything stupid."

"I wasn't going to," he said. "If I'm going to do this right, then I need your help. I wouldn't try anything without you."

I wanted to tell him that I would never let him do it anyway, but that didn't seem appropriate. Instead, I stayed silent, weighing my next words carefully.

I said, "Tomorrow Roy and I are leaving for a couple of days. While I'm gone, don't think about this, okay? Think about something else, anything else. Just for a couple of days. Then I'll be back and I can talk you out of it-"

"But I don't _want_ to be talked out of it-"

"Yeah, but you need to be."

He looked at me. "Please. Please, consider this. You wanted to go back so badly. This is our chance. You could see Winry again; you could _be _with her, like you never really were before. Don't you want to see home again? Don't you miss the grass, and the clean air there? We could live there, forever, and not have to worry about things here. Don't you want to know what happened to General Mustang and the others? You could meet Rose's son, and we could be _normal _there."

"That's what you said about this place."

"Well, I was wrong, wasn't I?" he asked heatedly. "I understand that. But there, we know them all and they would not hurt us, not in a thousand years. Unlike here."

I studied his face. "What did Becca do to you?"

"Nothing, she's done nothing," he said. "That's just it! Nothing. She hasn't done a damn thing. But I'm… it's like I'm addicted to her." He shook his head. "I promise not to do anything foolish while you're gone."

"Good," I said.

He sighed deeply, then looked up at the night sky. For a moment, all was silent, then he muttered, "I wonder if this sky is the same as the one over our home. Isn't that what you thought, once?" Before I could answer, he continued. "It doesn't really matter, does it? I guess not."

After a moment, I said, "Goodnight, Al."

He nodded. "Goodnight, Ed."

I turned and walked away. The door closed and there was a quiet _click _as the lock slid into place.

When I got home, it was like some of that stale awkwardness had followed me there, and, as I lay in bed silently, staring up at the bleak ceiling above me, my mind slowly trudging through the remnants of the conversation I had had with Al.

I was still worried about him. What if he broke his promise? What would happen to me then? Without him… everything would have been for nothing. I had to believe him when he said that he wouldn't do anything stupid. But I was also angry at him; why now? Why did he finally have to figure it out _now_, when he could have just became my friend again and everything would have been good? I was doing so well. And he _had _to bring up the possibility of going back… although it couldn't work. There was no chance, no way, it was just impossible. Simply impossible. Opening the Gate within oneself, that could have happened, with the Philosopher's Stone, of course. But the Stone doesn't exist in this world. It can't. His life for mine would not have been enough. He _had _to have used that whole Stone.

Hidden deep beneath these convictions, however, was a quiet, secret hope that the Gate could be opened. And I was ashamed of myself for even thinking it.

The next day, after I awoke, I didn't move for several minutes, letting the sunlight flooding in from the window warm the room.

Early in the morning, Roy and Riza were talking to each other quietly in the kitchen. In the living room, Lillian strolled over to me, a small, regretful smile on her face. She looked down at the ground, then at me. "The ship leaves soon. I only have a few minutes." A pause. "I suppose this is goodbye, then."

I looked at her. "Yeah. I guess so."

There was silence, except for Roy's muffled voice in the room over. Then, Lillian sighed. "It's funny, really. I came to America to escape my past. But now… now I've finally found exactly how much I want it back."

I smiled gently. "Yeah. Sometimes, things turn out that way." I paused. "Will you write?"

"Of course. As soon as I can."

"Good."

Before either of us could say any more, Irene poked her head into the doorway. "Lillian, you have to go," she said. "You don't want to miss the ship."

"Goodbye," I said to Lillian, and she nodded, smiled, and waved farewell to me as she left the house. It was the last time I ever thought I'd see her.

Later, Roy and I were outside, ready to leave. Just before I got into the car, another, familiar car drove up. Without even turning off the engine, a woman leapt out of the driver's side, slammed the door, and strode up to me.

"Stop interfering," hissed Rebecca, glaring at me.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Whenever he talks to you, he acts all strange," she said. "I don't like it. I think you're putting lies into his head."  
"Look who's talking, Becca," murmured Roy from the other side of the car, with a small smile. She shot a glare his way.

"You're the only thing that's stopping him from being happy," she told me. "I hope you're ashamed of yourself."

"I'm not," I replied mildly.

"You should be," she sniffed. "He was such a wreck last night. He's always a wreck after he sees you. Just go away, and don't come back! Do your brother a favor and get yourself killed while you're out there, okay? Because all you're doing is hurting him."

"Are you even _listening_ to yourself?"

"_I'm_ trying to make him happy," she said icily. "You're ruining that, for me and for him."

"Oh, please," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "The only person you care about is yourself."

For a second, it looked like she was going to pretend to be offended. Then, she just shook her head and let out a noise of frustration. "I'm sick of having to warn you to stay away," she told my lowly. "I didn't want it to come to this. But I'm not just going to sit by and let your ruin my happy ever after." Her lip curled cruelly. "Watch your back. Things might get nasty."

There was a second of silence. Then, cautiously, Roy began, "Becca-" but I cut him off.

"Are you actually threatening me?" I asked incredulously.

"I'm merely mentioning that you might not want to wander the streets when it gets dark," she said, her voice suddenly much lighter. "It's dangerous, you know."

She turned and strolled back to her car. Before she got in, she called, "Good luck. Just so you know, it's completely fine if you manage to get shot while you're off playing your little conspiracy game. Your brother won't miss you. I'm sure I can take his mind off things." She smiled deviously. "Goodbye, Edward. Have fun. Don't forget what I said."

"Oh," I replied as she got into the car. "I won't."

The car show forward like a bullet, leaving her laughter buzzing in the air.

Roy said quickly, "Forget about her. She's lying."

I looked at him. "How do you know?"

He shrugged. "She always lies."

Neither of us said anything. Then, he got in the car. "Let's go," he said.

I nodded, my hand on the handle of the car's door. I wondered, vaguely, what would happen if I never talked to Al again. He probably wouldn't do it. He said he needed my help to pull it off, anyway.

"Ed," came Roy's voice. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," I replied, snapping out of my reverie. I slid into the car.

"Forget about her," Roy muttered again, as he pressed down on the pedal and the car sped forward.

Her laughter rang in my ears once more.

* * *

Reuploading, fixing a few minor details so that the rest of the story works. You guys probably didn't notice the mistakes, but it's been annoying me for a while so yeah.

So as I originally said, what do you think? Is Al crazy? Constructive crit desired, as always. Sorry about the lame ending. I wasn't sure how to finish it up.


	26. The Precious Words

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Precious Words

Roy and I rode in silence, much slower than we usually would have gone. There was so much on my mind, I couldn't think straight, and I think that rubbed off on Roy a little. His hands were unsteady on the wheel, and a muscle in his jaw was jumping. The more I thought about Al's theory, the more I started to justify it, until suddenly, terrifyingly, it seemed possible. He was right, a Philosopher's Stone alone was not enough to return a soul to a body, and a life for a life was not enough to breathe life back into a person. Together, combined with the fact that I had newly died when he attempted to bring me back, he gave the ultimate sacrifice and he brought me back.

I did the same for him, and I brought his mind, soul and body back to this world. His soul had been, in essence, part of the armor because the blood seal was part of the armor, and that was his anchor. When Scar turned him into the Philosopher's Stone – a large Philosopher's Stone, not one of those small fragments from history – it turned not only the armor, but his _self_ into the Stone, because of that single blood seal. I brought his soul back whole. If there was any of the Philosopher's Stone left, it almost made sense that it was still connected to his soul, and, thus, that he – or any other alchemist – could still use it.

Not only that, but the fact that a smaller version of the Gate resides in all of us. Dante and my father had both said this. I wasn't entirely sure that it was true about this world, but why not? The Gate wasn't exclusive to one single world; I had seen it in this one, it led me to this one. Some people in the other world didn't or couldn't do alchemy, but that didn't mean that they did not have a Gate inside of them; it simply meant that they were already too connected to the physical world, and that they had difficulty accessing it. Alchemy wasn't even possible for Al and me in this world. It wasn't the people that lacked a Gate; it was the world that prevented them from opening it. Energy only flows in one direction. Or so I had always thought – the fact that Al and I were alive seemed to contradict that. That could mean that Al wasn't crazy, after all. It could mean that he was simply smarter than I was.

It would be wrong to use someone else, though. Even Becca, despite all her selfishness and bitchiness, didn't deserve to be sacrificed to get us home. It was a beautiful possibility, that I could return with Al, and we could live the life we were always supposed to lead, but if I had learned anything – if Al and I had learned anything – it was that nothing is worth the knowledge that the cost of our happiness had been at another human's life.

But Al must hate Becca by now, he must be so desperate. It was so unlike him, but it was true that this was the first time he had experienced feelings like these in a human body.

Before we moved to the States, before we left, there was never really a girl; Al didn't even manage to make friends. I suppose the same could be said for me, but at least I did things when I was here alone. Al, on the other hand, stayed close to me, and, after a while, Noa, and that was it. In that metal shell he used to have, because he didn't have a body he didn't have the capability to be influenced so heavily by the feeling of being close to someone else. When he felt betrayed or sad, he didn't get that heavy, physically painful feeling in his stomach because he had no stomach. Maybe the truth was that it was hard for him to function like this, because he never had in the past.

Still, that didn't excuse what he planned on doing. We abandoned our search for the Stone when we realized it came at the cost of human lives. He should have abandoned his search for a way to get home when he realized he would have to kill someone to do it.

But…damn. Even now, when I hated myself for thinking it, what I _wouldn't _give to go home. Maybe there would be another way.

I glanced at Roy. He was nervous, and that was because I was uneasy. I mattered to him, as a person and as a friend. As much as I would have liked to see General Mustang again, it would hurt just as much to leave this man. It would hurt to leave Winnie, even if Winry and I ended up together. It would hurt to leave these people I'd never even met before, Anne, Irene, Shauna, Margaret, Daley…it would hurt just as much as leaving Noa.

I closed my eyes tightly as my own cruelty caught up with me. I clenched my fists, ground my teeth. Before I could stop myself, I whispered, "Damn_._"

Roy glanced at me. "What is it?" he asked.

I didn't reply for a long second. Then I said, "Nothing," releasing a breath I hadn't even known I was holding.

He didn't look at me again, but he obviously knew there was something wrong. He knew there was something wrong with the whole situation – with Becca's unreasonable threats, with Al's frail isolation, and with my uneasiness of the past few days. I didn't know how much he knew or what he suspected, but he cleared his throat and he said, "I'm sorry."

There was a short pause. I said, "Yeah. I am too."

We fell into one of those silences that feel like they physically can't be broken. There was a faint trace of awkwardness in the air, but for some reason I was almost comfortable in my misery. I leaned my head against the window as we passed the docks, thinking no more of the Gate, but instead what was beyond it. I thought of General Mustang, the man sitting beside me in the car. Maybe, if I had stayed, we might have ended up being friends. I thought about Central City and Resembool and Lior. I thought about Hughes, Tucker, and Armstrong. I thought of Winry, Auntie Pinako, Teacher and Den. I thought of Scar, of Dante and of Rose.

There was no terrible feeling of despair and emptiness; there was no sadness tugging at my heart or pulling tears from my eyes. Just fond memories. I closed my eyes, trying to lose myself.

"Hey, Ed," came Roy's voice. I opened my eyes and glanced at him. He was peering with a furrowed brow out of the windshield. "When does Lillian's ship leave?"

"In a couple minutes, if it's not gone already," I replied. "She should have boarded a while ago. Why?"

He slowed the car, looked confused. "Then why the hell is she still here?"

I turned, followed his gaze. Standing there at the docks was Lillian's unmistakably thin, lithe figure. Her long dark hair swayed in the wind, and there was a strange, troubled look on her face. She was surrounded by bustling people, moving about their daily business in long cloaks. Roy pulled over and stopped the car. I didn't mind; in fact, I would have done the exact same thing, but, as if to silence my protests, Roy said, "I just want to check that everything's okay."

He got out of the car, I followed suit. "Lillian," he called, above the noise of the crowd. "Lillian!"

She was looking around, but she didn't see us. She touched a stranger's arms and began to walk away, a rather resigned look on her face. He lurched forward a little; her being alone was making him nervous, and he didn't want to lose her.

Loudly, I called, "Lily!"

She turned around, scanning the crowd. Finally she saw us, and a wide, ecstatic grin spread across her face. She dodged through hoards of people and stopped in front of us. "Edward!" she gasped. "Edward, I was just looking for you – I thought you'd gone already, I was so disappointed. I'm so glad you're here, Edward."

"Me?" I asked. "Why me?"

Her face lit up in joy. She turned around, searching through the crowd for a moment, then stepped and took someone's arm. It was a tall woman whom had been facing the bay, probably admiring the view. She was wearing a long cloak with a hood, so her face was concealed. She had a small child in her arms. The woman moved her head slightly, and her face came into view.

For an instant my heart skipped a beat and I was shocked. My head was somewhere far off. All I could say was, "Rose?"

She pulled back her hood and she looked down, almost ashamed. "No," she told me quietly. "Just me."

I took a step backwards and staggered slightly. A tinge of red graced her dark cheeks, and trembling, "Maybe…maybe I shouldn't have come."

I recovered myself, stepped forward. "No," I said. "No, Noa, I'm so…God, Noa, I'm so happy to see you." I reached out and touched her elbow. She recoiled slightly. I looked at her, then something within me registered what was happening. She was flinching away from my touch, a baby in her arms. This was too much like…

Suddenly, I was terrified, and my heart started to pump like mad. "Noa," I said. "What…what happened to you?"

Just as quickly, her trembling was gone, and she continued, "It's not what you think, Edward. This baby," she looked down at the child in her arms, "this baby is mine, and I wanted him and I am glad that I have him. I always wanted to remember his father."

My heart felt like it was crumbling to pieces. His father. If she did want this baby, then that must mean…that must mean that, after I left her, she had moved on. In some ways, I suppose, I had done the same to her, but…not like this. Not so quickly.

"Oh," I said. "Then…are you here alone?" I looked around for someone else that she would reach out and grab. No one.

"No," she replied. "When we got into port, they didn't allow me a call, like they said they would…I don't know where I would be without help from your friend." She smiled at Lillian, who blushed.

"Oh, nonsense," Lillian said. "You would have gotten through, I only sped up the process." She paused, looking at Ed. "See, I remembered your photograph, Edward. When I asked and found out it was really the girl in your picture," she smiled, "I had to help her."

"Thank you," I said to Lillian, then I turned back to Noa. "But…what are you doing here?"

Noa shifted her baby slightly, pressed the child to her chest. "I didn't want the little one to grow up without a father."

I stared blankly at her. Roy let out a little noise, somewhere between a gasp and an utterance of, "Oh, _Jesus_."

"I don't understand," I said. "Did he leave you?"

She looked at me, her head cocked slightly to the side. "Yes," she said. "He did. But now I've found him again, and I think he should tell me whether or not I should just leave before I embarrass myself further."

For a long second, I found myself staring at her. I could feel both Roy and Lillian's eyes on me, staring at me doubtfully. Then, finally, I said, "Oh." I stopped, looking at Noa, then at the baby, who, now that I looked at it, was lighter than Noa was, the hair more blonde.

"_Oh_," I repeated. "Oh, my God, Noa, are you…are you trying to tell me that that baby is…that baby is…"

"Yours," she nodded. "Yes, Edward. He's yours."

I could barely breathe. "But, Noa…why didn't you tell me? I, I never would have left if I'd have known? Al – Al wouldn't've either, I can't believe this-"

"I didn't know," she told me. "I didn't know until you were gone. Gracia sent a letter for me, but there was no reply…I thought…I thought that maybe I shouldn't tell you, that you and Al were here in America doing what you both always dreamed of." She shook her head. "I told you, I wrote you so many letters after he was born. You must have seen one of them, don't lie to me."

"I didn't," I said, trying to convince her. "I swear I didn't, Noa. If…if I had, then, well…" I realized I was shaking. "Where did you send them to, Noa?"

"The address," she said. "The University address, I did everything Al told me to."

"Noa…neither of us are living there anymore. That's why I never got your letters."

Suddenly, her eyes were shining, overflowing with water. "Oh," and it was her saying this, not me. "I thought…I thought that you didn't want me to come." She straightened up, looked me in the eye. "But I came anyway, because I decided that it wasn't worth it, struggling alone."

There was a short pause. Then I stepped forward and I touched the baby, touched her arms. "I can't believe it," I whispered, looking at the tiny child's face. "This is so impossible."

"Nothing's impossible," she said, her hand on my cheek. "You showed me that, Edward."

I touched her hand. Then I turned to Lillian. "Thank you," I said. "Again. So much." I paused. "But I'm sorry you missed your ship. I'll pay for another ticket, and you can leave tomorrow, if you want-"

"Don't be silly," she said, and I realized she was touching her eyes, smoothing the tears out of the corners. "It was worth it, if just to witness that."

I grinned at her and turned to Roy, still standing there behind us. "Sorry," I said. "If we can just take them home, then I'll still go if-"

"No, no, no," said Roy, holding up his hands in protest. "I wouldn't even think of it." He smiled wryly. "Family comes first, after all."

"Yeah," I said, looking back at Noa, and the tiny baby in her arms. "You're right."

_Family._

* * *

First of all, I'm sorrrrry.

Ignoring the fact that I haven't updated in eight months, this chapter was really really key. I was going to push it off for another chapter or two but I decided to skip a scene that was proving all too difficult for me to write. That scene I skipped will probably be explained later, but it was a bad idea from day 1 and I should have scrapped the plotline a long time ago.

The beginning of this chapter is sort of a recap of what Al's been thinking - I tried to justify it because it actually makes sense to me. Also I managed to sneak in there a major central idea and plot device in another story I've been (thinking about) writing, _Madonna_. The short summary of that particular story can be read on my profile. However, the girl in that story is waaaay too much like Becca. Except a little nicer. Or at least better at pretending to be nice. Speaking of Becca, sorry there's a significant lack of her and Al in this chapter. However, they do have a major scene coming up that will blow your mind. Seriously, I suggest the wearing of head gear while you read it.

(JK...maybe not _that _intense.)

Sorry sorry sorry. I probably shouldn't have started off with such a shocker. But now think about what effect this will have on all the other characters. Alllll of them. Expect some pretty strong reactions, to say the least. And Noa has a lot more to say to Ed - and Al.

There will be 4 more chapters at least. One will probably be the equivalent of an epilogue. And then I will probably post an alternate ending that you will all love and adore me for. What can I say? I love nice reviews :3

So if ANYONE is still following this story after so many months, thank you thank you thank you. My writing has improved drastically, and I couldn't have done it without you. Now that school's out and I have a month until we actually move out of our house (to London!), I will probably be able to get this story back on track.

The title of the chapter comes from an Emily Dickinson poem. "He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was Dust." :)


	27. Choices

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Choices

Roy drove back to the house after I introduced him to Noa. As he drove and Lillian sat beside him and beamed back at us, I told Noa briefly what had happened to me since I came to America: moving out of the apartment I shared with Al, living for a short time with Roy and his family, and then moving into my own place. I said very little about Al, which caused her to look at me quizzically, but I just shook my head slightly and she understood.

When we reached Roy's home, Lillian went inside. Roy paused for a moment. "We're just going to take a walk," I said. "We'll be in soon. I'm sure she wants to meet everyone."

He nodded, and then there was a little smile on his face. "Congratulations, Ed," he said. "And…good luck." He turned and disappeared into the house.

I looked at Noa again. She wasn't looking at me. She was looked at her baby, smiling softly, rocking it in her arms. I didn't say anything for a moment, just followed her gaze and let my eyes rest on the child. He had eyes as dark as Noa's, but he had a tuft of hair on his tiny head that was unmistakably blonde. "What's his name?" I asked.

She didn't reply for a second, then she said, "I haven't decided yet."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "What have you been calling him?"

"Well," she said. "I've simply been calling him my baby. But Gracia – she helped me leave, she did so much for me – Gracia said he needed a name on the papers. So officially I've been travelling with my son, Alfons Elric."

I started slightly. "Alfons?" I asked. "After Al, or-"

"Both, I think," she replied, before I even finished my question. "Or either. Whichever. I thought about naming him after his father," she paused, and a small smile graced her face, "but then I decided against it. I thought…" she took a breath. "I thought it would be too difficult to call him that, if indeed I found you but you didn't want me. But with Alfons…I could tell myself I named him after a dead friend, that's all."

I touched her, and her expression changed slightly. I didn't know exactly what she was seeing, but I wished she could see how much I had missed her, how terrible I had felt. "I'm so sorry," I told her lowly. "I regretted leaving you so much. I still do. But I need you to know that I never – _never_ – would have left you again." I hesitated, then said, "I love you, Noa."

She laughed slightly, hiccupping up a little sob as she did so. Her eyes were wet. "Please don't say that," she whispered. "Not yet. It still hurts when I think of the last time you said that to me."

It felt like her words sliced straight to my heart, but I forced myself to nod. There was a short silence, then I started to say, "You were wrong."

She looked at me. "What do you mean?"

I shook my head, and touched the baby gently. Little Alfons. His tiny mouth opened and he yawned. "I didn't love again," I told her. "Not after I left you."

She stared for a long moment, didn't say anything. Then, "I don't believe you."

A pause. "You don't believe me?"

She shook her head. "You can say that all you want, Edward," she said softly. "But when I touch you, all I can see is their faces."

I took my hand away so that she wasn't touching me anymore. I felt so ashamed. "I'm sorry," I told her. "I just wanted to make Al happy. I didn't want to take you away from your home."

"Home?" she asked. "I told you a long time ago. I don't have a home."

"…but America is a scary place."

"It was scary there too, without you."

I felt so ashamed. I couldn't even look her in the eye. Then I asked, "How was the journey?"

She shrugged. "I used the money you left, and Gracia helped me. It wasn't as difficult as it could have been." Another pause. Instead of looking at her face, I looked at the baby. My baby. I couldn't believe this. "Would you like to hold him?"

I tore my gaze away from the child and looked into Noa's eyes. "Oh," I said. "I don't know how to hold a baby, I'd be too afraid of dropping him, I-" The baby's tiny fingers curled around my thumb. He hiccupped. "Okay," I murmured.

She smiled and I held my arms out. I wasn't lying, I _didn't_ know how to hold a baby, but she placed the child in my arms and the baby blinked and closed his eyes. "Mind his head," said Noa gently, and suddenly everything was alright.

Everything that had happened, everything that was happening, everything got swept away. He felt warm and was so unbelievably small. "Hey little guy," I murmured. "Little Alfons."

A big smile lit up his tiny face, and he laughed.

Noa put one hand on my elbow, supporting the baby's head. "This is Papa, baby," she said to the child, tapping my chest. "Can you say Papa?" She was so close to me. Holding the baby with one hand, I slid the other around her waist and pressed my cheek against hers. I didn't want her to see the tears.

"Thank you," I whispered.

She took the child from my arms and I wiped my eyes quickly with my sleeve. "Will you help me do it, then?"

"Do what?" I asked, blinking hard.

She smiled. "Raise him."

I stared at her blankly for a second. Then, "Of course I will. You don't have to ask. He's…he's…" My voice cracked. "He's mine."

More silence. She was smiling now; she wasn't angry at me, and I didn't know why. I left her. No less, I left her with a child. She had every right to be outraged at me. She opened her mouth, but instead of shouting, like she should have been, she asked, "Where is Al? Is he inside?" She gestured to the door that Roy and Lillian had just entered.

"No," I replied, trying to collect my bearings. "No, he doesn't live here. For that matter, neither do I anymore, but I spend most of my time here. I suppose you know why."

She nodded. "Like I said. You love them."

I heaved a sigh. "I was thinking more along the lines of the familiar faces, but yes, that too, I guess." I paused. For some reason, I didn't want to tell her the truth. "Al left the University housing a while ago. He lives on his own now."

"Without you?" she asked, sounding oddly puzzled.

"Yeah," I answered. "Without me." Silence. Then, I continued, "You must be hungry, not to mention cold. Come on inside, I'll introduce you to everyone."

I turned and took her hand. But before we went anywhere, she pulled me back, drew me in, and gently touched her lips to mine. I cupped her face in my hands, savoring the simple, chaste kiss. We broke apart, foreheads touching. She whispered, "I missed you."

"I missed you too," I muttered. "So much."

After a few seconds, I pulled away and led her up the steps and into the dark front hallway of Roy's home. There was a low buzz of conversation coming from upstairs, but I led Noa into the kitchen, where Riza was standing at the sink, finishing dishes, and Lillian and Irene were sitting at the table together. They all looked up as we entered. "Hello," I said, somewhat awkwardly. "Where did Roy go?"

"Upstairs," said Riza, looking at me with a little smile on her face. "But he told us you found an old friend." She nodded her head to Noa, who was standing sheepishly next to me. She had this way of standing when she was around strangers; it was as if she compacted herself. Her elbows turned in, even as she held the baby, her head tilted down so she was staring at the floor, and her feet nearly on top of each other. The baby hiccupped again.

"This is Noa," I said. "Noa, this is Riza, Irene, and you've already met Lillian."

Noa bowed her head even further, something I hadn't thought possible. "Good day," she said meekly. Lillian looked delighted.

Irene only had eyes for the child. She stared at him, an empty, jealous look on her face. She stood up and walked slowly, cautiously over to Noa. Breathlessly, she asked Noa, "Is this your son?" Noa looked at her and nodded. Irene stared more, soaking in every detail.

Noa lightly brushed my arm, and I think she saw what I knew of Irene, because she said, "Do you want to hold him?"

Irene shook her head. "I can't," she said, shaking back her sleeve and revealing her right arm, grotesquely twisted and withered. How long ago had she first shown this to me? I couldn't remember, but there it was, and she couldn't hold the baby. She looked up, trying to catch Noa's gaze. Noa was still staring at the ground. Irene ducked her head slightly to look at Noa in the face. "He's a beautiful baby," she said hollowly. She looked at me. "You take good care of him now, Ed."

"Don't worry, Irene," I told her. "I will. I swear to God, I will."

Riza opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Winnie's voice came from the stairs. "Hey, Ed," she said, and I turned to see her barreling down the stairs, and before I knew what was happening she had punched me in the face.

I staggered backwards a few steps. "What was that for?" I asked angrily, holding my jaw.

She was livid. "What was that for? _What was that for?_ Are you kidding me? What is _that?_" She pointed at Noa, who looked bewildered and slightly scared. Irene touched Noa's shoulder, standing protectively beside her.

"That's Noa, Winnie," I said. I realized my mouth was bleeding. "I've told you about Noa before."

"You have?" asked Noa softly, and she sounded hopeful.

Winnie grimaced and said, "Yeah, you did tell me about her. However, I don't remember you telling me that you were a _father_."

"I didn't know!"

"Do you think that makes it better?" she demanded. "Do you think that _excuses _anything? Would you be sympathetic to the father of Daley's baby if he told you that he just _didn't know?_ No, you damn well wouldn't, because that poor girl had to spend nine months carrying something _you _gave to her, and then she had the responsibility of her own child while you were here with us, doing whatever the hell you wanted! And you actually-" she let out a half-crazed laugh "-you actually had the _nerve_ to sleep with another woman while, somewhere in the world, there is a woman with your _baby_ inside of her! Jesus, Ed!"

"I didn't-"

"And don't pretend like you didn't do any of that, I know you did, because it was me. You slept with me. Everyone knows already, except for the poor girl in your photograph." She looked at Noa. "You can stay here," she said. "We have an extra room, we already have a nursery, and you certainly don't need this creep in your life anymore. Come on." She extended her hand towards Noa.

Doing the complete opposite of what I had expected, Noa slipped out of Irene's grasp and stepped next to me. "If it's alright," she said quietly. "I think I'd rather stay with Edward."

There was a short silence. Then Winnie talked again, sounding more controlled. "I didn't mean to scare you. Please, just leave him. He's a jerk and a hypocrite. He doesn't deserve you."

More silence. The baby started to cry. Margaret, standing on the last few steps of the stairs, said, "Looks like someone's been listening to Becca a little too much."

Winnie whipped around. "You shut the hell up about Becca right now," she said dangerously, "before I make you."

Riza stalked right out of the kitchen and took hold of Winnie's arm. "Winry!" she hissed. "This is not appropriate and we certainly do _not _greet guests with shouting matches!"

"I'm not shouting at her, I'm shouting at-"

"It doesn't matter. Excuse us," she said to the room at large, and she tugged Winnie up the stairs, muttering angrily as she went.

"I guess that's our cue to leave," I said.

"No, you don't have to go," said Irene. "Not just yet."

"I think we should," I replied. "What if next time she comes at me with a wrench?"

Roy stood at the side of the stairs. He had been thinking hard. He looked at Noa and me and abruptly said, "Yes. I think it's better if you go now. We can all talk later, after she's calmed down."

I nodded, then turned to Noa. "She's right, you know," I told her. "You can stay here. And I am a complete jerk, and there's nothing I can do to go back and make it better. But you could stay here."

"No," she said, softly but firmly. "I want to be with you."

I glanced around at the girls assembled, watching us. "Sorry I caused so much trouble," I said, apologizing to all of them. "We'll be back soon enough." The girls said goodbye to us as we stepped once again out into the cold outdoor air. My car was still in front of the house, where I had left it that morning.

"Where does Al live?" asked Noa. "I'd like to see him."

"Alright," I said, and I opened the door of the car for her. I started the engine and began to drive in silence. Then, finally, I said, "Winnie was absolutely right. About everything."

A pause. Then, "Why do you call her Winnie? I thought her name was Winry."

"It is," I began to explain. "But she doesn't like it when people call her that. She prefers Winnie. Besides," I said, "it helps me remember what's real and what's a just memory."

"Your memories are real."

"Yeah…but they aren't _now_. They aren't important, not like you are or…or Alfons is." Silence. Maybe I shouldn't have said that.

She asked, "Who is Daley?"

"A girl," I replied. "The place they live in, that's sort of a home for women who have nowhere else to go. It's where they can be safe. Daley had her own baby a few months ago." I paused. "A girl. Named Faith."

"Faith," repeated Noa, tasting the word in her mouth. "A beautiful name."

I was driving her back to the place that I lived. "I should call Al first," I said. "So he knows."

She nodded. Whether or not she had seen Becca in my mind already, I didn't know, but she seemed alright with putting off seeing Al for just a while longer. The day was still young, and there was a lot that I had to talk to her about. There were so many questions I had to ask her, but she probably had more questions for me. I wished she would ask them, because things felt heavy on tension, weighing down on my chest.

It wasn't until we were inside the small apartment that I recalled how little it was. I couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed. "I know it's tight," I told her apologetically, "but it was just me for a long time."

She said, "I think it's wonderful. Such a change from the cabin on the ship."

I felt another pang in my heart. "Noa…" I began. "If I had known, I would have come back just for you, I swear, I-"

"No," she said. "Don't do that. No more ifs. I understand."

I hesitated. "Why aren't you angry with me?"

She considered me for a moment, then looked down at the baby. "I was very angry at you," she said quietly. "But now that I've found you, I realize that I want you back more than anything else."

I wouldn't look at her. "Winnie was right. God, Noa, you should have listened to her. I don't deserve any of this."

She reached out and took hold of me. "You don't get it, do you?" she asked gently. "I understand, Edward. I can feel what you do. Remember?"

She could feel what I felt, but it didn't make it any better. I left her. When I thought back, I couldn't remember why I would ever leave someone as beautiful and simple and kind as Noa.

She wasn't touching me anymore, but it was as if she was, because she asked, "What about Al?"

"What?" I asked, startled.

"Al," she repeated. "Weren't you going to call him?"

"Oh, right," I said, then I paused. "Didn't you bring any luggage?"

She shook her head. "I should have," she said with a coy smile. "But as much as I worried, some part of me believed that I would find you." She reached that same hand out and touched my face gently. "And I did."

I took her hand in mine. After a few moments, I said, "I'll call Al. We'll see him as soon as possible." I let go, and I picked up the receiver, dialed his number. Noa held the baby in her hands, looking down at it with an expression on her face that brought me back to Rose. She looked just like her, with this baby in her arms. It made me feel so guilty.

A ring, another one. Then another, then the sound of the phone being picked up, and a woman's voice on the line. "Hello?"

"Becca," I said. "It's Ed. Is Al there?"

"Yes, of course he is," she said. "But you're supposed to be-"

She stopped; I heard Al say something, but I couldn't make out just what. Becca said, "Just a moment," and she must have placed her hand over the receiver because everything became muffled.

Then there was the sound of the phone changing hands and a tired, "Ed? I thought you had left already."

"We were on our way," I replied. "But something came up." I stopped. "Would it be possible to come over? I really need to talk to you about something."

There was a long pause, then Al finally said, "Yes, it's fine."

He didn't say anything more. I had to ask. "You haven't…you haven't done anything, have you?"

"No," he said immediately. "I told you I'd wait until you came back, and I wouldn't break a promise to you."

There was sincerity in his voice, and I couldn't help but smile, my eyes on Noa sitting with the baby in her arms. I didn't want to tell Al that she was here over the phone; it would be better if he saw her in person. "Okay," I said. "I'll be right over." And we hung up.

Noa looked at me. "You didn't tell him."

"I want to surprise him," I said. "He'll be glad to see you, I know he will. He missed you too."

She asked, "Who is Becca? Is she the woman he's living with?"

I frowned. "How did you-"

"I saw her face," she explained, before I even finished my query. "When I touched you."

I nodded grimly. "Yeah, that's Becca. What else did you see?"

Instead of looking at me, she looked down at the baby. "Not much. Your old memories are still there, you know. I can still see those."

I looked at her skeptically. "That's all?"

She cocked her head to the side. "I saw Al," she said simply. "Is he…is he as angry as he looks?"

I sighed. "Yes," I said. "No. Maybe. I'm not sure, right now. He and I…we haven't been talking much lately."

She nodded, as if she understood. But of course she understood; she was the only one in the world who could. It had simply been so long, I'd forgotten that she knew more about me than even I did.

Noa took a few minutes to freshen up, leaving the baby with me. I sat down on the couch and laid the child down in front of me. I still could barely wrap my head around the fact that this baby was my son. Son. The word sounded so foreign, now that it I was on the other end, now that I was the father…

We rode to Al's house in silence, one of her hands resting gently on my arm. I tried to break down the barriers and let her in as much as I could, and it was easier to do this without words. When we arrived at Al's place, I stopped the car at the curb and got out, opening the door for Noa. Before knocking on the door, I stopped and turned to Noa. "Before we go in," I told her. "You should know, if you haven't seen already: Becca is kind of…difficult to deal with."

Noa laughed slightly. "I'm sure I've dealt with worse in the past."

I felt a twinge of guilt deep within my chest, again, but I just nodded and knocked on the door. Almost instantly, Al opened the door. He looked at me, then his eyes moved slightly and he saw Noa standing there. His eyes widened and he stood there, frozen, in silence.

"Hello, Al," she said gently. "It's been a while."

He didn't say anything. His eyes flickered to the baby in her arms. In a hushed tone, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

She smiled at him. "I didn't want to be alone anymore."

There was a long, long silence. I almost said something, but the look on Al's face stopped me. He looked shocked and, what's worse, he looked horrified. His eyes were wide and disbelieving. Finally, I asked, "Al, are you okay?"

He was shaking his head. "No," he said, still staring at Noa. "No, not now."

"What?" I asked. "What are you talking about?"

He put his hand to his face, covering his eyes. "I was so close." His hand dragged down his face, revealing his open eyes again. "Why now?" he breathed. "Couldn't you have stayed another week, another month?"

Noa looked agonizingly stunned. "You…you don't want me here?"

He shook his head. "No," he told us. "No, of course not. Noa, I'm so happy to see you again. I thought I never would. I thought I'd said goodbye for sure. I'm so happy that you're here, and that you're safe and that you…" he trailed off, but he was looking at the baby and I thought I knew what he was thinking.

"Congratulations, Al," I said softly. "You're an uncle."

He looked at me. "Yes…" he replied. "I know."

"What?" I asked, almost suspiciously. "Did Winnie call?"

He shook his head, but stepped away from the door, inviting us in. "No," he said, "but I think there's something I need to show you."

I looked at Noa, who just shrugged slightly, then we both went inside. I'd never actually been inside Al's home, but it was smaller than it appeared from the outside, although it looked in good condition. Al led us into a sitting room, and the moment he invited us to sit down, Becca entered the room. "Well, would you look at this!" she said delightedly. "You're that girl, aren't you? You're that gypsy girl in the photograph."

I rolled my eyes. "Just go away, Becca."

"No, no," she said. "I have to stay, just for a moment. Just to appreciate the beautiful coincidence. Oh, lord, I never imagined it'd be this good."

"Just leave, Becca-"

"Please. You come into this house – _my _house – with a little Edward Jr. and you want _me _to leave? How inconsiderate." She pretended to pout and addressed Noa. "Usually he's less civil, you know. Once he hit me. You know what they say about men, though. You leave them for a week – well, it was more than a year in your case though, wasn't it? Anyway, you leave them and they lose all their manners." She smirked. "How was the journey? You weren't knocked around _too _badly, were you?"

I ignored her, and I tried to tell Noa nonverbally to do so as well, but Noa simply passed me the baby and stood up, strode towards Becca. For a moment I thought she was going to hit Becca, but instead she simply reached out a hand and touched her arm, looking intently into Becca's eyes, scrutinizing her all the while. The smirk disappeared from Becca's face. After a few moments, she said, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get your dirty hands off me, _gypsy_."

Al entered the room again; I hadn't realized he'd left. At a look from him, Noa took her hands off of Becca, who looked angry and offended. Al put his own hands on Becca and said quietly, "I need you to leave us alone."

"Again?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "Please, one last time, I promise."

She looked jaded, but she turned on her heel and left the room anyway, closing the door behind her. It was then that I noticed Al was carrying a small box of sorts. Noa sat down again, taking the baby. Al sat across from us, a small wooden table separating us. He held the small box in his lap. "I don't know how much you've seen," he said, and I could only assume he was talking to Noa. "But I want you to know how he felt. If nothing else, I need you to know this."

She looked at me, then back at him. "Please, tell me."

He looked at her, with burning eyes. I looked at the floor, at my hands, because I knew what he was going to say and I didn't want to hear it. "Once," he continued, "he tried to leave me."

A still silence. Then, Noa said, "I don't understand."

"He tried to leave me," Al repeated. "One time, and that was the worst it got. He didn't want to live without you, I hope you know that. But neither of us were prepared to lose each other, not then. So we stopped thinking about you. The both of us."

I said, "Al-"

"No, don't," he said to me. "You know it's true. Do you really think you'd ever have been with Winnie for so long if you'd still been thinking about her?" He paused, looked back at Noa. "I'm sorry I have to say this, Noa. But…it's just…I need you to understand."

"Of course I understand," she told him, so much kinder than I had ever been to Al. The guilt came back again. "I felt the same way. I did."

"No, you didn't," he said bluntly. "I know you didn't."

Instantly, there was a crackling sort of tension in the air. Quietly, Noa asked, "What do you mean by that?"

He looked down at the box in his lap. He opened it, and as he emptied it onto the table between us, he said, "How could I have allowed him to think of you again, after you had almost killed him once already? I didn't want to be alone and maybe that's selfish, but then again, Ed, like you said before, maybe it's not selfish…just simply human."

My eyes widened as I stared at what sat on the table. Noa didn't move a muscle. I leaned forward, held one of the thin paper items on the table. Noa whispered, "Oh, God."

The majority of the envelopes were unopened, but a few were and, my hands shaking, I extracted a thin piece of paper covered with a familiar scrawl from one that was already open. As I skimmed through the words, I could barely breathe.

"Al, these…" Noa said. "These are…"

She breathed a long shuddering breath, staring at Al, her eyes wide, clutching the baby to her chest. The words I had been hoping to everything I had ever believed in were not true came out of her mouth like a whisper in the wind, exploding into the air and breaking my heart.

"…these are my letters."

* * *

Ohcrap.

Firstly: Winnie's response. Raise your hand if you saw that one coming. *raises hand*

Secondly: Yes, I've been planning this all along. Since like chapter 9 or 10. Personally I feel like this is something Al would do; I feel where he's coming from. Look at his personality in CoS if you don't entirely agree. He's somewhat impulsive, and also I think he's pretty selfish. But what's wrong with that? When the alternative is losing someone you love or never seeing them again, isn't being a little selfish justified?

Okay, so maybe not this amount of selfishness. But Al was just too afraid that Ed was going to do something dumb again if he started thinking about Noa that much. It's 4am right now so I hope this all makes sense and it's still okay despite my tiredness. I feel like I have too much description of movement in this chapter? Constructive crit as always, please.

The end of this chapter was particularly inspired by an Emily Dickinson quote. "Better to be the hammer than the anvil."


	28. The Story So Far

**The Story So Far**

Several years after he crossed the Gate, Al published a book titled _Amestris, _in which he documented the lives of him and his brother from a fictional standpoint. Not long after publication, he received word that he had been invited to New York University as a student in the International Literature Exchange Program. Ed is unwilling to leave his brother, but Noa chooses not to go with them, instead leaving Ed with a kiss on the cheek and the reassurance, "You will love again."

Al takes classes at NYU, while Ed, having not been invited, does not. Ed struggles with guilty thoughts and, merely days after they arrive, he tries to drown himself in a bathtub; Al saves him, and the experience leaves both of them terrified. Al is scared at the idea of losing his brother, and Ed is terrified of himself.

Eventually Al returns to classes under the insistence that Ed look for a job. While doing so, he helps a girl named Rebecca out of a tight spot, only to discover that she lives with none other than this world's version of Roy Mustang himself, who then offers Ed a job as an automobile mechanic. Stunned, Ed agrees, and finds out that Winry Rockbell also works for Roy, except that she prefers to be called Winnie.

Ed is still haunted by dreams of his past life, which have returned tenfold now that he has left Noa. The guilt of leaving her is overwhelming, but at the same time he can't help but believe she must hate him for leaving her without a fight.

Ed discovers soon that Roy Mustang is married to Riza Hawkeye, and they have a small child. Roy and Riza run a home for girls without one; Winry and Rebecca are two such girls.

The cold snap of winter comes and in January Al falls sick, a pale, skinny look about him. The sickness lingers for a long time. By then, he had been spending a lot of time with Rebecca, whom Ed helped before. About this same time, Ed learns that Rebecca is sick with a condition that is slowly eating her life away, and she has, at by some estimates, ten years left.

Understandably, Ed has been somewhat chasing after Winry since he met her, although she has responded coldly. He learns that, in this world, Winry had a younger brother named Michael who was killed about six month prior because of implication with a bootlegging business. They are in American in the 1920s, during the Prohibition, so alcohol is generally considered illegal, although it isn't difficult to get a hold of it at esteemed institutions like NYU. Michael was completely head-over-heels, obsessively in love with Rebecca before he was killed. He was like a son to Roy.

Over the course of several days, Al has totally fallen in love with Rebecca. She flatters him and touches him, which no girl has ever done to him, and the emotions in his sixteen-year-old body completely overwhelm him.

Rebecca runs away, but a day later Roy finds her in a shady part of town, being harassed by a crass, drunken man. Against his better judgment, he attacks the man and brings Rebecca home safely. The next day the man comes to the mechanics garage and Roy is arrested for assault. Ed goes with Riza, Rebecca and Winry to try and talk the police into letting Roy go. Rebecca's stepfather shows up at the police station and demands that she come with him. Al arrives, politely insinuates that the man is a drunk, and posts bail for Roy, effectively saving the day.

The day after this, Ed and Al get into an argument over their worlds and their past. They both apologize. Neither one of them mean it.

Following this argument, Ed chooses to move out of the apartment he shares with Al and he moves into Roy Mustang's large house, which he uses to house girls with no home of their own.

There he meets the girls of the house. He meets a girl named Lillian, who just recently immigrated from England, where she had known the counterpart of Ed. Sadly, he tells her that he is not the same person she knew, although he can't tell her why. He also meets Irene Tucker, the mother of Nina Tucker, whose fate in this world was not the same as in Ed's. He also meets Margaret, who loves to gossip, Shauna, who idolizes Rebecca, Fiona, who has some kind of mental disorder, Helena, who presses a gun into his hands and begs him to take it so she doesn't use it, and Daley, who is massively pregnant, and lastly, he meets Anne, a soft-spoken artist who abhors conflict.

Not long after Ed arrives, Rebecca leaves to live with Al. Winry, who has since struck up a relationship with Ed, is Rebecca's best friend, and she tells Ed just how terrible Rebecca really is. She tells him how manipulative Rebecca is, and that Rebecca is playing Al.

Daley's baby is born and it reminds Ed of the life he could have had, if he had stayed in his own world, or more recently, if he had stayed with Noa. He tells Winry about this and she becomes cold towards him.

And then Winry shows up at the garage with Rebecca, Al, and most of the girls in tow. They're arguing about something, and as far as Ed can tell, it has something to do with Al. But he doesn't get a chance to find out, because Rebecca's stepfather shows up again, this time with a gun in his hand. Taking the gun from the office of the garage, Winry threatens to shoot him as he holds the gun to Rebecca's head.

He gets shot in the hand, drops the gun and runs. Winry follows him, furious and outraged. She is determined to kill him, but in the end she doesn't and Ed realizes that he doesn't need this Winry, not in the way that he had always needed the Winry of his old world. He comes to accept the world he is living in as his own world.

Ed moves out into his own apartment, and soon he's visited by Al, whom he hasn't spoken to in weeks. Al is slightly unwell, and equally frantic. It is difficult to live with Rebecca, as he has been, and the pressure she puts on him is starting to take its toll.

Around that same time, Rebecca comes to Ed and confesses how lost she feels with Al. How much she doesn't want to disappoint him. However bitchy Becca may have been in the past, Ed begins to feel compassion for her, as if seeing a glimpse of the real Rebecca.

Not long after this, Rebecca comes to Ed again. She says Al has been locking himself away in his office, obsessing over a wooden circle that Ed gave to Al for Christmas about a year ago. Ed refuses to tell her what Al may be doing, and she attempts to seduce him, but her kisses don't work and she leaves, but not before Winry lashes out and gives her a bruise on the side of her face.

Later, insanity reflected in his eyes, Al visits Ed, asking about a bruise that Rebecca claimed Ed had given her. Al tells Ed that he doesn't feel right, that he can't be right, because his body was lost for so long, and he could not have been given back the same one for fair trade. He implies that he wishes Ed could have lived happily without him. There is an inescapable air of awkwardness between them. Al leaves a journal with his brother and asks Ed to read it.

The journal spells out Al's plan to open the Gate. Whether or not Equivalent Exchange exists, Al believes that it is possible. He believes that a remnant of the Philosopher's Stone is attached to his soul, and that is how he will be able to open the Gate. Ed quickly confronts him about this. Al admits that a sacrifice would be needed, but he's not about to use himself. He tells Ed that, if he were to use anyone, it would have to be Rebecca, because he's not blind and he can see that she's using him, that she doesn't really love him. But he can't force himself to leave her. Not unless he could go home.

Al promises not to do anything until he and Ed discuss it more. Rebecca threatens Ed. As Ed is driving through the city with Roy, he spots a familiar face on the docks.

Noa has arrived in America. She sent many letters but never received a reply, and she decided that it would be best to find out, for sure, whether or not Ed still loved her at all, like he had said he did. Of course, a part of her knew that he would, especially because he is a father now. He had left before she knew she was expecting. He hates himself for leaving. He expects her to hate him as well. But she doesn't.

Ed and Noa visit Al, who's shocked and upset that Noa has returned. He still has a crazy, manic look in his eye. He says he has something to show them. Telling Rebecca to leave them alone, he shows Ed and Noa a small package. A package containing all of Noa's letters to Ed.

Expect five or six more chapters of _Fullmetal Alchemist: Dead_ and then an epilogue that will reveal something new about this whole story.

* * *

I have decided that there will, in fact, be a character death. You can thank The Catching Light Alchemist (.net/u/2464274/) for helping me make that decision. It might be Becca. But then again, there are so many characters to choose from, there is a high likelihood that it might not be. What do you think?

**My dear readers, if at this point you choose to stop reading, I won't hold it against you. I have been a terrible, terrible author and I should have dedicated myself to this project more, and kept updating regularly. Alas, life got in the way and I have not. If your interest has waned, I can't blame you, because first I took an eight month break and now it's been more than three months. With this update I'm posting a oneshot about Winnie and Becca, because I didn't want to disappoint you with just a summary. However, five pages of chapter 28 are written. If not by the end of the weekend, that chapter will be posted in a few days, and from then on the action speeds up and I won't be able to leave it alone, I hope. Do not fear! **_**Dead**_** will be finished before the end of 2010. If, of course, anyone is still interested /:**

**I love you all. Your feedback has been the one thing that has helped me to improve my writing the most. THANK YOU. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. Words really can't express my gratitude. **

**Also, I want to specifically shout out to Alex, my very own Catching Light Alchemist. I haven't talked to you in forever and I want to publicly say that I'm sorry and I shall reply to your emails, I have tons of stuff to tell you. TONS. **

**Finally: as of November 1****st****, I will be changing my penname to Jayne Foyer. However much I love my current penname, it's a reflection of myself 4 years ago, when I got it, and I've changed very much since then. I just want you all to know that if you see anything posted by Jayne Foyer, it's still me. 3**

**Thank you. **


	29. Heartbreaker: A Rebecca Miethke Oneshot

"Mikey, Mikey baby, wait. You forgot to give me a kiss."

The boy with the blonde hair stopped walking and turned around, a grin on his face. He cocked his head to the side, opening his arms wide. The girl with brown eyes had a sweet, curling smile on her lips; she skipped to him lightly, as if floating, and put her hands lightly on his shoulders. She brushed her mouth against his. He slid his arms around her waist. "Sorry," he said. "You know I can always wait a few moments for you, Becca."

"I know you can. You have to, otherwise I'd be long gone. I need somebody's kisses to stay alive, Mikey, love. And yours are the best." He kissed her full on the lips, as passionately as he could, to show her without words exactly how he felt away her. She pulled away and laughed a little, pushing away from him. "Go, go. You'll get fired if you're too late."

"I don't care about that. I'd rather stay here with you. I'd quit that job for you, you know. In an instant."

Something flashed across Becca's face, but he didn't see. He was too obsessed with the gentle curve of her jaw, the wide, round arc of her eyelids. "Michael," she said, that smile suddenly appearing on her face again. "Go!"

She pointed towards the door, he rolled his eyes and laughed. "Whatever you say," he told her. "Whatever you say, darling. I'll be back soon." He started towards the door, but then he paused and turned around. "Becca," he said. "How about I buy you something nice tomorrow? I'm getting my bonus tonight."

Something shone in Becca's eyes. "Don't be silly," she sighed. "You need that money."

"I'll buy you that scarf from that store on Main Street. The one you pointed out to me."

"Oh, Mikey, you don't really remember that, do you?"

"Of course I do. Of course."

She smiled sheepishly. "You're too good to me."

"Look who's talking, Becca. My beautiful Becca."

She waved her hand. "Go, you fool."

With one last grin, he disappeared out of the door. Her face fell instantly. She rubbed her cheeks, massaging the muscles. It hurt to smile too much. She yawned. No sleep last night, she'd been too busy with Michael. She should nap. She meandered into the kitchen, where Roy was reading the paper, while Riza washed dishes from breakfast. Margaret also sat at the table, chatting away, Shauna beside her, hanging onto her every word. "The short hair, I just don't understand it. What kind of woman wants to look like a boy? Long hair is beautiful, long hair like mine. What do you think, Shauna? Do you ever want to cut your hair?"

Eyes shining, Shauna shook her head and began to open her mouth to reply, but Becca cleared her throat loudly, and instantly everyone's eyes slid towards her. Riza put the last dish away. They all stared at her, a sort of crackling electricity running through the room. For a moment, she basked in the attention; lately, when she appeared, they couldn't help but look at her, to frown slightly, to glare, and, in Margaret's case, to snarl at jealously.

"I think," announced Becca delicately, "that I will take a nap."

Silence. Then Roy looked back at his newspaper. "Sleep well."

She blinked, staring at him. She had expected more. "I will," she replied caustically. "After all, it isn't like I slept much last night…"

"Mmm."

His lack of a response bothered Becca. She hesitated, searching for words. Then she said, "It's very cold in Michael's room, by the way. You need to get that boy some better blankets, we were freezing."

Sounding unimpressed, Margaret interjected, "Are your innuendos going to stay this harmless, Becca, or should I cover Shauna's ears now?"

"Hey," whined Shauna.

Becca didn't even shoot a glare Margaret's way; instead she smiled sweetly at Roy. "Did you hear me?"

Roy sighed and put down the newspaper on the table, turning to her. "Rebecca," he said seriously. "What do you want me to say?"

She was a little taken aback by this. She knew exactly what she wanted him to say, but she would never tell him. "Oh, nothing," she said airily. "I just think you should be very clear about where Mike and I stand."

"From the way you've been talking, the two of you have done very little _standing_-"

"Margaret," said Roy, silencing the other girl. Pouting slightly, she turned away, so she wouldn't have to look at Becca anymore. Shauna copied her movements almost exactly. Roy went back to his paper. "You can do what you want, Rebecca. I'm not your father; I can't stop you."

She gritted her teeth a little, frustrated. Then she swept her hair back and smirked. "Good," she said. "You wouldn't be able to, anyway."

She turned and as she stalked away, Margaret called, "Oh, and Becca!"

Becca turned. "What?"  
"Winnie wanted to talk to you. She seemed upset. Probably because of all the noise you and Michael were making last-"

"If I have to tell you to be quiet one more time, Margaret-"

"Fine, fine, Roy. I'm done."

Becca turned and walked away, her head held high. Winry. Winry. They hadn't spoken in a while, but Becca had seen the way Winry had looked whenever she saw Becca with Michael. She knew that Winry didn't approve. She knew, in fact, that Winry hated the fact that her brother was seeing Becca. Selfish girl. Winry was just jealous that Becca was getting all of the attention now. Oh, what a bitch. What a cute little angry bitch.

Becca went back to her own room and sat down on her bed. She trailed her fingers along the bed. Her body was crying out to her, begging for sleep, but she didn't want to sleep. She had so much more to do.

The door opened. She looked around, her big brown eyes open as wide as she could manage. The woman standing in the doorway looked so like the man Becca had just bid farewell to. Becca smiled, a sickly sweet grin. "Winry, dear," she said, "sit down, please."

"No."

"Stand if you like, I don't mind."

Silence. A long pause. Winry was staring at her with narrowed eyes. "This is getting too serious, Becca."

"Serious?" asked Becca innocently. "What's getting serious?"

"You know what I mean."

"Do you mean your attitude? Because you're uncharacteristically serious, Winry. You have been for a while. It's my fault, isn't it?" Becca's chin trembled slightly, but it was an obvious joke and then Becca laughed. "Your brother is very nice to me, Winry."

"Of course he is. He's in love with you."

Becca laughed again, but it was higher now, more genuine. It rang through the room, resounding in Winry's ears. "Love?" she shrieked, delighted. "Do you really believe in _love_, Winry?"

Winry's expression darkened. "Yes," she said defiantly. "I do."

Becca stood up. She strutted right up to Winry, and took her hand. "Winry, my dear," she sighed, holding her hand tightly. "You're so like your brother."

She pulled her hand away. "You're right about that, Becca," she said, fire burning in his eyes. "And you know what else? I care about him, Becca. And I know you far better than he does. And I know that once he stops buying you things, you'll throw him away like the piece of trash you think he is."

"Well," said Becca mildly, "he's a very attractive piece of trash."

"I can't let you do this," hissed Winry. "I can't watch you hurt him like this. He'll be devastated."

"Devastated? I'm flattered."

"Shut your stupid trap and listen to me, Becca. Listen to me. You're going to tear him apart. You're going to kill him."

"Don't be stupid," replied Becca, rolling her eyes, getting a little irritated now. "Broken hearts aren't fatal, love."

"They might as well be," spat Winry. "For all the pain they cause."

A short silence. And then Becca said calmly, "As if you would know." Smirk. "You've never even been with a man, Winry. You have no idea, do you? And that makes you jealous."

"I would know," breathed Winry. "I would know, Becca. I know what it feels like, to love someone who will never love you back."

"Oh, please," said Becca, making a face. "By all means, tell me your little story about how your wittle heart was broken as a child. It's not like they're ever true, anyway."

"Becca," said Winry. "Becca."

Becca looked Winry straight in the face, challenging her, asking her to keep arguing. "What?" she whispered, her face less than an inch away from Winry's.

The blonde haired girl leaned in and pressed her lips firmly to Becca's.

Becca was instantly halfway across the room. "What the _hell?_" she asked furiously, her fingers at her lips. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

Winry just looked at her. Her clear blue eyes were shimmering slightly in light of the single, naked lightbulb in the room. She lowered her gaze, unwilling to let Becca see the tears forming in her eyes.

"You're right about one thing," she muttered, her eyes fixed on the floor. "I'm jealous. I am so jealous of him, Becca."

And she turned on her heels and fled the room.

Becca stood there for a long, long time, her fingers resting gently on her thin lips.

For the first time she could remember, she had no idea what to do.

* * *

I noticed recently that no one pointed out how Winnie _clearly _feels about Rebecca. Since about chapter 10 I've been hinting at this, because in my mind it makes sense. Rebecca's so good at making people fall in love with her, gender doesn't even matter.

This isn't taking a stab at Winry. EdWin is legit and canon and remember, Winnie also falls for Ed in this story. I just think she's so bitter because she knows how it feels like, to be played by Becca.

Like I said, next chapter soon. For now, I'll leave you with this.


	30. The Misfortune of Knowing

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Misfortune of Knowing

I tried to pat down my anger, but I couldn't manage it. By the sound of it, the letter in my hand was the first one Noa had written. I stood up, and I leaned forward, holding the letter in front of Al's face. "Did you read this?" I asked lowly, dangerously. "Did you read this and not tell me?" He refused to look at either my face or the paper. I looked again at the date on the letter. My lips felt numb. "December," I said, barely able to speak. "She sent this in December. Almost…almost a year ago." Gritting my teeth, I crushed the letter in my fist. "Dammit, Al!" I said, not caring about how loud my voice was getting. "You knew! You knew and you didn't tell me! Al! How could you!"

He looked up at me, his face empty. "You don't understand," he said.

"No, I don't," I said. "Please, enlighten me."

There was silence. He looked down again. A tear slid down his face. Softly, he said, "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have done it if I knew she was going to come."

But that only made it worse. "So you're trying to tell me," I muttered, fighting to keep my voice down, "that you were perfectly content to keep – to keep _this _a secret from me, as long as she never showed up to screw up your perfect little lie?"

He had this look on his face, like he didn't even understand. He nodded. "Yes," he said quietly. "That's what I'm saying."

"Oh my-" I took an angry, slow breath, trying to stay in control, but it was useless. "You read this, didn't you?" I continued, holding the crumpled letter. "So you must have known! You _knew _that I'd left her with a child, and you – you _still _didn't tell me? How the hell can you justify that?"

He was still looking at me. Like a child, his lip began to tremble. He looked down, ashamed. "You would have gone back to her," he whispered.

"Of course I would have gone back," I said heatedly. "What else could-" I stopped. I looked at Noa. Her mouth was hanging slightly open, and she looked entirely stunned. I sensed that this conversation was only just starting. I sat down again. "Please," I said. "Explain."

He looked at us, the both of us. His eyes were full of tears. "There are too many things that this would have done," he said slowly. "To us, and to you. Everything that had happened would mean nothing if you went back to her."

I couldn't bite my tongue any longer. "What the _hell _do you mean? Everything would have been _easier_, so much damn easier if I had gone back, for her and for me! And for you, for that matter, because you would have gotten rid of me earlier, and you'd have been able to go ahead and start your perfect life with Rebecca sooner!" A sound at the door. All of us turned; Becca was halfway into the room, a faux concerned look on her face.

"Alphonse," she said, but before she even finished he cut her off.

"Leave the room, Becca," he said tiredly, and the tears were gone from his eyes. She slid more into the room, almost closing the door behind her.

"Don't let them do this to you, baby," she said quietly. "There's no need to feel guilty. Make them leave, and then we'll go to bed and I'll make you feel-"

"Dammit Rebecca, _go away!_"

He wasn't looking at her, but he was breathing hard and his hands were shaking. She silenced; looked at us, at him, and then nodded her head, her eyes on the ground. Then, softly, she said, "Of course, love," and she left the room, gently closing the door behind her. I'd never seen Al speak that way to Becca, and it was a little bit unsettling.

"Al," I said, sitting down again. "I think it's time for you to give us that explanation."

He looked at us. His eyes looked like liquid, but he wasn't crying anymore. He wasn't even close. On the contrary, he looked very calm, very collected, and saner than I'd seen him in a while. "I already told you this," he said, looking straight at me. "You don't know what it's like."

A pause. "What it's like?" asked Noa, because she didn't understand.

"To see it," he said impatiently, as if we didn't understand something obvious. "To watch someone you love die. There's no way you could understand, not even you, Noa, because you know that _he_," he was looking at Noa now, but he jerked his head towards me, "is alive. And then I watched it almost – _almost_ – happen again, barely a year ago. And then _this_ happened." He held up the letter. "But by that time, you'd forgotten about her. We'd started to move on. And I couldn't bring her back into the mix, Brother, please understand! It would just take you back to where we were, and you'd go back to that, to that…" he made a face and spat the word out of his mouth, "_depression, _and I couldn't stand that. So I just…I just decided to hide the first one."

I wasn't exactly sure how to feel about this. I sat there, with my mouth open dumbly, desperate to tell him that he was an idiot and he was cruel and it was so damn wrong of him, but I couldn't talk. I just had to listen. Maybe something inside of me was trying to believe that he was justified, that he had a good reason for all of this, but mostly I just felt too numb to talk.

"And then," he continued, "after that, how could I give you the next one? Or the ones after that? Then I would have to tell you that I hid the first one. By then, we weren't speaking to each other and it was hard to be _around _you, much less admit that I lied to you. I tried to, a few times. But I couldn't. I was…I was too afraid."

"Al," I said. "You idiot."

He just looked at me, something heavy in his eyes. "Don't blame me," he said. "You left her to begin with."

"I wasn't about to let you leave me!"

"Well, to use your words, it would have all been easier if you had. I would have gotten rid of you and gotten the _perfect_ life I have now earlier. If you had just let me leave."

Something crept into his voice, and somehow I had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't just talking about this anymore. "What do you mean?" I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

He stood up, walked away, to the windows at the front of the room. "Do you know where you would be if I were dead?" he asked gently. "You'd be with Winry. The real Winry, not this imitation of her. Honestly, that baby would probably be hers, too. You'd be living in Resembool, our old home. Without me. Even now, you can't deny how much you wish that were the reality we were living in."

"No," I said. "Al, no. I want this now. I want you to be alive, and I want to have Noa, and I want to have the life that I can lead _here _now, with my family."

"So is that why you tried to kill yourself?" He looked back at me, his words stinging, his eyes wide. "Because you wanted to _stay _here?"

"…things have changed since then. You've obviously changed too. I thought _you_ wanted _this_."

He looked away. "You don't know what I want."

"No, I don't." I stood up, took Noa's arm and she stood up beside me. "But I do know what I want. And I want to stay here, and I want you to as well. But you've told me a lot already and I need to think about it. I'll be back, Al. I won't leave you alone, I promise. But right now," I looked at Noa. "Come on. Let's go."

I walked out of the room, Noa trailing behind me. I walked to the front door, thoughts pounding in my head, so many that I couldn't think straight. I felt angry, but somehow I was sad, too. Even if I could forgive Al, this was so unlike him. It was like a whole different person. Equivalent exchange, I guess. The moment I find this new part of me, this family in Noa and the baby that will now be a part of my life forever, I have to lose what other family I had left. Of course. We were at the front door when Al suddenly appeared at the door of the room we had just exited.

"I tried to help," he said, his voice breaking. "I tried to give it back to you. All of it. And now you're just walking away, you're walking away from everything. Don't forget that, Brother."

I looked at him. "I'll talk to you later," I said. Numbness overwhelmed me, walking out of Al's home, driving home, Noa resting a gentle hand on me.

Hours later, I was standing over a makeshift cradle in which a baby lay, eyes closed, gently snoring. I watched him for a long time, until his mother appeared at beside me. She touched me again, my thoughts and memories pulsing between us like a heartbeat. She looked down at the baby with a tender, burning love in her eyes. "He'll be alright," she said soothingly, and I wasn't entirely sure who she was talking about.

Without taking my eyes off the child, I asked her, "Why didn't you say goodbye?"

She took pause at this. "Goodbye?" she echoed.

"At the docks. When we left. Everyone we knew was there, congratulating Al. You weren't."

A silence. Then she said, "You were leaving me."

For some reason, this explanation seemed enough.

"You've got to be tired," I said. "You should sleep."

"No, I'll stay awake," she replied. "In case the baby wakes up."

"Don't be dumb," I said with a tired smile. "Go on and lie down. I'll watch him." I paused. She didn't look convinced. Quietly, I said, "I'd like a little time alone with him, Noa."

And she took her hand off of me. She nodded and turned to go to the bedroom, to finally sleep, something that she needed badly. Her hand on the doorknob, she stopped, then looked back at me.

"Edward," she said.

"Yes?" I replied.

"I love you."

A short pause. I looked at her. I blinked. She smiled, and then opened the door and disappeared into the room. I looked at the baby. The words came out of nowhere, suddenly bubbling up from my stomach and into my throat and then into the air, but the door was already closed and she didn't hear me. I let Alfons's tiny fingers curl around my thumb and I whispered, "I know."

It had been so long since I first saw the shores of America. It had been long enough that an entire new life had been brought into the world, and here he was, eyes closed, making quiet, gentle noises of steady breathing. I watched him, almost warily, for a while, and then he sort of hiccupped, except it was more like a cough, and then something gripped my heart tightly. I picked him up and leaned him on my shoulder, walking around the room, rocking him gently. I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't know how to make him sleep. Part of me wanted to wake Noa, because that tiny little cough had been terrifying. Rationally, I knew that it was probably nothing. It was probably normal. But I couldn't manage to entirely think that way, and it was a long time before I sat down again, lying down on the small couch, the baby splayed out on top of me, my hands resting protectively on him.

In the morning, I was awake when Noa walked out. She looked at me, the bags under my eyes. And then she asked, "Did you sleep at all?"

"No," I replied. In lieu of an explanation, I told her, "He coughed once."

She nodded, almost amused. Tenderly, she said, "I knew you'd feel it too."

A silence. Then I sat up, carefully handing the baby. "Does it ever go away?" I asked, knowing the answer to the question already. But I needed to hear it from her lips.

She shook her head. "No, Edward," she replied. "Not since he was born."

I hesitated. Then, "I – I wish I could have been there when-"

"Why don't we go back to see your friend Roy Mustang today?" she asked soothingly, refusing to let me finish my question. I said nothing more about it. It was clear she didn't want to think about that, and it hurt.

Soon after that, we were driving to Roy's home. I was a little nervous about Winnie, but I also knew that nothing was going to change if I didn't go back there and talk to her.

It had been gray and drizzly for several days now, but as the car skidded through the wet streets, it became apparent that what started off as a heavy mist was turning into a full-blown storm. I stopped in front of the house and, taking Noa's hand, I quickly led her to the door, which was indented slightly so that we were out of the rain. Before I knocked, though, a small noise came from the corner of the stairs, below where we were standing. "Just a second," I told Noa, and I stepped back into the rain to lean over the banister. Sitting there in the corner, curled up into a ball, her bright orange hair plastered to her bone-white skin, sat Anne, her eyes fixed on something in the dark, dry corner. "Anne?" I asked.

She glanced up, wincing a little as she did so. She wouldn't look me in the eye. "Edward," she murmured, then she looked down. I glanced back at Noa, who had a little smile on her face.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" I asked, striding down the steps and towards her. She glanced my way, then pointed a pale, gaunt finger into the corner. Wrapped in a small, thin scarf that looked so gaudy it had to have been Rebecca's at some point, was a small, shivering kitten, little enough to fit in the palm of my hand. "Oh," I said. For a moment I looked at the poor thing, shivering in the cold, its big eyes closed, completely covered by the scary except for its black head. Then I looked back at Anne. They were both vulnerable; they both needed help. But the girl sitting on her ankles in front of me needed me more.

I took off my coat and gently placed it around her shoulders, even if she flinched away from my touch. "Come on," I said. "You'll catch your death outside here, Anne. Bring the cat inside, we'll find something to feed it."

Anne shook her head, still sitting on the wet ground. "Roy doesn't allow cats in the house," she breathed. "Tom gets sneezy around them. He feeds a stray dog every night, but never a cat. Not even a little kitten." For the first time, something like strength crept into her voice.

"Oh," I said again. "Sorry. But you're more important than the cat. Come on, stand up." I took her arm and she didn't pull away; she simply let me pull her to her feet, then tug her up to the door, her eyes fixed on the kitten the whole time. "Anne, this is Noa," I said, although Anne was still staring at the cat. "Noa, this is Anne."

Noa reached out and touched the bare skin of Anne's hand. She started slightly, but allowed herself to be touched. After a moment, a wide smile broke out on Noa's face. "Anne," she said. "A very beautiful name."

Anne turned beet red. "Th-th-thank you," she muttered, and I wasn't sure if it was the cold that was making her teeth chatter, or something else.

Once inside, we paused at the kitchen. Roy was sitting with Shauna, who looked like she was sulking. His expression brightened somewhat when he saw Noa and I. "Ed!" he said. "Good to see you're back. Thought you might've left for good after what Winnie said to you."

"No," I replied, with a grin. "You can't get rid of me that easy."

"I'm glad," said Roy. "Noa, it's good to see you too. And the baby, of course." A smile and a little nod.

Noa seemed a little more confident than usual. I thought it was because she knew this man almost as well as I did; she had seen him many, many times before in my memories.

"I hate children," sniffed Shauna.

"You _are_ a child," said Roy, glancing at her. She made a frustrated noise. I noticed Noa smiling at this.

"So," I began. "Is Winnie still…?"

"No," Roy told me. "She's calmed down. She was playing piano all of last night, though. I finally had to force her to go to bed. Which is unusual for her."

A pause. "Then she's still upset."

"Well, of course," said Roy. "Upset, yes. Likely to punch you in the face, not really."

I laughed slightly. "Where is she now?"

"In her room. You should talk to her. Noa, why don't you join the girls in the sitting room? Riza's with them."

"Yeah," I said, turning to Noa, who was clutching the baby close to her chest. "How about it, Noa?"

A small nod. "Yes," breathed Noa. "That sounds nice."

With a nod to Roy, I led Noa to the sitting room, where she and I paused in the doorway. Riza was sitting with Margaret, who was holding Faith in her arms. Lillian, a huge smile on her face, sat beside them.

"Hello Edward," said Riza, a thin smile on her face.

"Hi girls," I replied. "Do you mind if Noa joins you for a moment? I have to talk to Winnie."

"Not at all," said Lillian brightly. "It would be a pleasure!"

I smiled and squeezed Noa's hand. In her ear, I whispered, "You know Riza, don't you?"

She nodded slightly, the hint of a weak smile on her face. I left her sitting down with the other women.

Upstairs, I passed Fiona's door; I could just make out Irene's frustrated voice trying to calm Fiona, who sounded frantic and unintelligible. I heard a sigh and creak of floorboards from Daley's room. And then I was at Winnie's door. Silence. I raised my hand and knocked.

She opened the door almost instantly. The look on her face was calm, but disdainful. "Look who it is," she said. "Mr. Father of the Year."

Her words stung, but I didn't let her know. "Can I come in?"

"To my room? What would your beautiful wife think of that?" A pause. "Oh, wait," she said softly. "I almost forgot. You didn't even have the decency to marry her before you-"

"Do you want me to leave?" I asked her, a hard note in my voice. "Because I will. I'll leave you alone if you keep talking like this. If you want me to, I will, but don't expect me to come back this time."

She said nothing, only searched my face with her deep blue eyes. Then she sighed and walked away from the door, inviting me in.

Same as ever. A few photographs on the walls. A bed. A desk. A chair. Austere, but functional. I walked a few steps in, observing the pictures hanging on the walls. Winnie sat down on the bed, looking at me expectantly. I got the feeling I should say something, something to convince her not to be angry at me. So I said, "I love her."

Accusingly, she asked, "Then why did you leave her?"

"You know why," I told her. "Because I had to come here with Al."

"And look how well that turned out."

"Winnie, please," I said, turning to look at her. "You wanted to know why I left her, I'm telling you why. So just listen."

Silence. She glared at me. "You're actually telling me," she murmured dangerously, "that Al was more important than she? That your brother meant more to you than the woman you love?"

"Yes," I said, even though I almost felt guilty for saying it. "I am saying that. I had to choose between them then and I… at least I was honest. Come on, Winnie. Between – between being with Michael and being with someone you love, who would you have chosen? Who would you choose now?"

She held my gaze, then looked away. "Mike," she muttered. "Mike, a thousand times over." Pause. "But that's different. My brother is dead."

_So should my brother be_, I wanted to say. But I didn't. "What can I say, then? What could I say to make you stop hating me as much as you think you do?" She looked at me silently. I sighed and looked around the room. "Winnie," I said. "I should have done a lot of things differently than I did. But I didn't. And look at me. Even with one fake leg, I've managed to get up and keep going, living with my mistakes. You've got two strong legs. I'm asking you the same thing: keep going. And please, try to live with the mistakes I've made."

A long, painful silence. Her eyes darted around the room, desperate to find reasons for something, anything. And then she looked at me. "I know that you love her," she said. "I've known that for a long time. You love her more than you love me, I know that and I understand that. It just…" a pause. She looked hopelessly around the room. "It just seems like everyone has somebody they love more than me."

I wanted to let her know, somehow, that I did love her best. I loved her more than anyone else I had ever met. I loved her more than Noa because she was first. I'd known that she and I were meant to end up together since we were infants. I felt so useless, completely unable to convey to her just how much I could love her. How much she meant to me. She was sitting on the bed. I knelt down in front of her, taking her hands, looking up at her face. She wouldn't meet my gaze.

"Winry," I said. "I love you, too."

She looked at me. Her eyes welled up with tears. And then she fell forward, onto her knees, throwing her arms around me, holding me, a sob escaping her lips. After a moment, she said, "Congratulations, Ed. Congratulations on finding her and – and your baby, Ed, I…" She blinked, wiped her eyes. She pulled away and tried to laugh. Then she looked at me, a sad look in her eyes. She reached out and touched my face. "I hope I find someone like you," she whispered. "But nobody could ever do as much for me as you have."

I embraced her. "Don't say that," I told her. "If I've learned anything, it's that you never know how much someone can change you. You never know what could happen."

She nodded, her eyes still swimming in tears. "You're a good man, Ed. Thank you. For everything." She wiped her eyes, then stood up. Stronger now, she said, "Now go back to her. I'm sure she hates to be without you. I would."

I stood up, kissed Winnie on the forehead. "I should be the one thanking you," I said. "I don't know where I would be if I hadn't met you."

She said, "Go."

I hesitated. She smiled, nodding at the door. I told her, "I'll be back."

"I know."

I turned to the door and left. As she closed the door behind me, I saw a glimpse of her face. Sad. But she wasn't angry. Not anymore. I stood there for a long time. If only I could do the same for Winry. If only I could hold her and tell her I loved her as well.

For a single second, a part of me wished entirely that I could go back. Then I remembered that crazy look in Al's eyes and the journal full of scribbled notes, and the sensation evaporated. I didn't want to go back. Not at that cost.

Downstairs, Margaret and Lillian were in an animated conversation. Apparently in the few minutes I had been gone, they had decided that my son was going to marry Faith when they were grown up. Noa looked amused, but a little uncomfortable. Riza was smiling slightly bitterly, looking from Alfons to Faith. Two tiny babies. I was reminded of what Winnie once told me about Riza: she and Roy had had a daughter a few years ago who had died as a baby. This Riza had always seemed a little more meek than the Riza on the other side of the Gate. The idea of losing Alfons washed over me. It occurred to me suddenly that the loss of a child could do that to a person. Break them down.

It was a few hours before we left. Riza talked softly to Noa, unlike Lillian or Margaret, who laughed loudly. Noa slowly seemed more comfortable with them, and she even let Riza hold Alfons, just for a few moments. Winnie didn't come downstairs to see us before we left. But I knew she would be all right. She was strong.

Before we did leave, Roy stopped us. "Ed," he said solemnly. "I just want to make sure that you remember what Rebecca said to you."

I raised an eyebrow at me. "You mean when she threatened me?"

Roy nodded. "Exactly. I know you probably didn't take her seriously, and that's a mistake. She knows people in the right places to make that a reality. To be honest, if you were still on your own I probably wouldn't bother warning you." His eyes rested on Noa and the baby. "But you've got a family to think about now. And I can't help but believe that Rebecca is really low enough to try to hurt your child."

"She wouldn't do that." Roy turned. Riza strode up beside him, placing an arm protectively around his. She had a sort of gleam in her eye.

"You don't think so?" asked Roy doubtfully.

She shook her head and calmly said, "She knows that if she ever threatened a child, I would kill her. It's very simple, really."

A short pause. Her eyes were on the baby.

"Look after your son, Edward," she said softly. And then she turned and walked away.

Roy looked at me with an expression that said he needed to go after her, so I nodded and

Quickly said, "Right. I'll remember that. Thanks, Roy."

"No problem. Come around anytime, you know that."

"I know. See you."

He turned and walked away, hurrying after his wife. Noa looked at me. "Should I be worried?" she asked quietly.

I shook my head. "I don't think so. Becca's not the type of person to go through with these threats. It's just another way she manipulates people."

Noa nodded, deciding to trust me. Outside, the rain had stopped, but the sky was still gray. Before we got into the car, I glanced back at the house. Beside the staircase, the kitten was gone, but Becca's gaudy scarf was still there, lying ragged and dirtied on the wet ground.

* * *

It feels SO. GOOD. to have this chapter done. Thanks for all your support.

Your thoughts on Al? On the baby and Noa? On Winnie, and Riza? This chapter actually has a purpose; it will come up later. I dropped plenty of hints and/or foreshadowing, I think. Tell me what you think.

I'll be in Poland this week so I won't write much but I am SO EXCITED for the next few chapters. That will motivate me, I hope.


	31. Blood

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Blood

The next day, everything suddenly felt normal and easy in the way that only Roy's family could manage. They welcomed Noa and I back into the house and once again, and Noa sat with the women, getting to know them as they were desperate to get to know her. Winnie sat with her, but she rarely talked. Winnie, who knew Noa's face better than any of them. She had seen her picture beside my bed many times.

Noa held Alfons in her arms, but she let some of the other girls hold him. I wouldn't have thought it, but it seemed a kind of relief to her, to let someone else carry the weight of her child for a few moments. Again, when I thought this, I felt guilty.

We were all sitting in the living room of the house; it was late and already getting dark outside. Winnie sat at the piano, playing short, simple tunes. Margaret carried the brunt of the conversation; Roy and Riza, who were usually busy doing something else, sat with the rest of us. Tom, their son who couldn't have been older than six years old, sat in Roy's lap, resting his head against his father's chest. The little boy's eyes kept closing, but with a little shake of his head he would always open them again, desperate to stay awake. Riza occasionally reached out a hand and ran her fingers through his black hair silently.

Irene was holding Alfons when Tom sat up and leaned forward, looking at the baby. Margaret, sensing that no one was listening to her anymore, finally shut up just as Irene asked quietly, "Do you want to hold him?"

Wide-eyed, Tom looked up at his father, who glanced at Noa. She nodded, pushing a lock of hair out of her face. "Go ahead, Tommy," said Roy, a little smile on his face. Irene held out the baby; Roy placed his son's hands on the baby and pulled both children close to him, helping Tom to cradle the baby in his arms.

Riza stood up and silently left the room. Roy looked after her, his chest rising and falling in a silent sigh. Then he handed Alfons back to Irene and stood up, setting Tom down on the couch. "Sorry," he said, heading after his wife.

But then Noa said, "Um – Mr. Mustang?"

He looked back at her. A gentle smile broke across his face. "Call me Roy," he assured her, looking at her the same way he would look at any of the other girls.

She said, "I'm sorry. I – I didn't mean to upset her."

"You didn't do anything, Noa," he said. "Of course you didn't. She's just sensitive about some things."

Silence. Roy nodded at us and left. Irene gave the baby back to Noa; Tom leaned his head against the back of the couch, his eyes closing. I looked at all of the women I had come to know so well in the past year. It seemed that, just for a moment, everything was falling into place. Could things really work out?

Roy appeared again, in the doorway to the room. "Ed," he said. "Can I talk to you?"

I looked at Noa and she nodded almost imperceptibly. "Sure," I said. I followed him into the kitchen, where he nodded at the table.

"Go ahead and sit down," he said. I did so, a little nervous.

"What did you need to talk about?" I asked cautiously.

There was a short silence. Then Roy said, "Things are going to have to change."

"What?" I asked. "Why? What are you talking about?"

He sighed a little bit, running a hand through his short hair. "I don't want to have to be the one to tell you this, but somebody's got to, I suppose." There was a short pause. Then he said, "Look, you're more than welcome to continue to work at the garage, but I get the feeling that with two more mouths to feed, that's not going to be enough. As much as I want to help you out…" he trailed off, looking at me.

I thought about this for a moment. "I guess so," I said. "I hadn't really thought of that. So…what should I do?"

He leaned against the countertop. "Well, the way I see it," he said slowly, "you have two options." He held up one finger. "One, you get a second job and you work your ass off twenty-four hours a day." He grimaced and held up a second finger. "Two – and it pains me to say this, it really does – you leave."

Silence. "Leave?" I echoed.

"There are better opportunities out west," he continued. "And, believe me, New York is not the best place to raise a child." He smiled wryly. "I would know."

I returned the smile. "What, trying to get rid of me already?"

"Of course not," he said, taking my light tone more seriously than I had intended. "If it were entirely up to me, I'd keep you here for the rest of your life. For the benefit of the girls, of course." A grin. "But it's your family. And ultimately, it's a decision you have to make."

I looked around the little kitchen, the place I knew so well. "You really think I should leave?"

A pained look passed across his face. "I think that's a question you should answer for yourself," he said. "But then again, I think a lot of things. You don't have to listen to me."

I nodded. He didn't want to see me go, I knew that; I could tell as much. But he was looking out for me. He was giving me advice. Good advice, too. I had, many times in my life, left everything behind and tried to start over somewhere new. But looking back, the reasons hadn't always been the best. My choices had always been biased, colored by the circumstances and my own opinions and staunch beliefs. Now, it seemed that the opportunity was arising again, but for the first time, this looked like the best thing to do. Not for me. It didn't matter what I _wanted_ anymore; I wanted to stay here and keep the life I had. What I needed more than that – more than anything – was to give a life to my son that was better than that. That need eclipsed everything else, and so although I didn't say it right then, my mind was made up. I would have to leave, because the life that I was used to before Noa appeared again with my child in her arms was over. Things would not be the same. So it would be best for all of us if we found somewhere where we could keep our family and settle down. Maybe for good this time.

As far as I knew, it could be as close as the outskirts of the city or as far away as the West Coast of the United States. Regardless, at that moment, I knew that I would have to go.

The front door opened and closed. Roy raised an eyebrow, until he heard the sound of a familiar voice. "Oh, fantastic," he muttered, grimacing. "She never can stay away for too long, can she?"

Just as Roy started towards the door, Becca appeared, hanging onto Al by the arm. She giggled. Al didn't look me in the eye.

"Well," breathed Becca, her eyes shining. "Hello _boys_."

I almost rolled my eyes; Roy actually did.

I stood up. "Al-" I began, but then he shook his head and turned and walked away. I tried to follow him but Becca stood right in front of me, blocking my exit. She smirked at me.

Roy said, "I should probably go warn Riza." I glanced back at him; he met my eyes, silently asking me for permission.

"Go ahead," I said. "I can handle her."

Roy brushed past Becca and me. She reached out and brushed a hand along his chest, but he swept by her, without even pausing.

"So you can _handle me_, can you?" she asked, with a devious grin. "Yes please."

"Go away, Rebecca. I really don't want to talk to you right now."

"Not even a hello?"

"Hello. Now will you let me go?"

"No," she breathed, running her hands along my chest. I took her by the wrists and forced her hands down. I tried to push past her again and she laughed. "You are too funny, Edward. You think you can leave before we finish our conversation?"

"Rebecca, if you want to say something, say it. I don't want to play your games right now." I paused, waiting for her to say something. She looked at me for a few moments, her eyes slightly narrowed, as if considering her options, choosing what to do.

Finally she said, "So it seems that we're all paired off, aren't we? You and that ugly gypsy, and me and Alphonse." She sighed dramatically. "It's such a shame." She paused, waiting for me to ask her why it was a shame. I refused to play her game, and my silence forced her to continue speaking. "You know, I would've so much preferred you. You're older, more handsome, and you kiss better too. I have to admit something to you, Edward, love. I always had that little hope that I could leave him for you. Shame _she _had to come back, like I said. If she weren't here, oh, Edward, I have no doubt that you'd finally realize that you love me – because you _do _love me, Edward, I've seen it in your face and once you think you love someone you never stop. Ordinary people don't, anyway." She grinned. "It's a damn good thing I'm smarter than ordinary people, though, because I know love doesn't exist and that means I can move just as fast as I want to." She sighed, as if stunned at her own genius. "Yes, I know. You wish you'd figured that out years ago, don't you? Well, you're very welcome. I live to enlighten people on the subject."

My lip curled in disgust. "You're just so goddamn jealous, aren't you?"

Her thin eyebrow rose. "Jealous?"

"The only reason you talk like that is because you've never felt love. Which isn't surprising, considering you're such a heartless bitch."

She pretended to hiss at the insult. "Oh, no need for name-calling. Let's be civil about this, shall we?"

"Let's be done," I said, and tried to push past her once more, but she stopped, her thin hand circling my arm, tugging me back in front of her.

"Now, now," she said, and there was something dangerous in her voice and in her eyes. "Edward, I want you to know that everything you always do to your brother, every time you try to convince him that I'm bad for him and he needs to grow up and get out of my dangerous claws, it didn't work. It won't ever work. And now you're never going to speak to him again. You're too caught up with your own _family_," she spat out the word with as much condescension as she could manage, "to pay any more attention to him. And you know what that means?"

I stood there stonily, trying to pat down the urge to hit her.

Behind her, there was the sound of the door opening and slamming shut again. She didn't even glance around; she kept her deep eyes focused on mine, staring intensely. She reached up and touched my face gently, her fingers sliding through my hair. I hoped so much that Al would walk out and see her and finally come to senses about what she was doing to him. Although I knew that even if he did see, she would somehow manage to worm her way out of trouble with him, I still wished that he would see this, and then maybe a miracle would happen and he'd snap out of the stupid spell she had over him.

She leaned forward and put her lips to my ear, her breathe tickling my skin.

"It means I've won, love. And there's nothing you can do about it."

She laughed, taking her mouth away from my ear. She swept her hands along my arms and shoulders and chest. She was always touching, her fingers always fluttering across my body. I hated it, and I wanted nothing more than to strangle her.

But instead I just asked, "Are you done?"

She looked mildly affronted, then waved it off. "Yes, I am. But thank you so much for asking, love. I appreciate your concern."

I pushed past her, tearing my arms out of her grip. I went into the living room; Roy and Riza were still gone – as was Noa, which seemed strange. "Where's Noa?" I asked.

"Talking to Riza," replied Shauna. "Is Becca here?"

Becca appeared behind me, and Shauna's eyes lit up. "Yes, I am," she said, and before she spoke again I walked away to find Noa.

I hadn't turned the corner to the hallway that Riza had gone down before Roy stopped me, holding out an arm. Then, silently, he pointed down the hall. Noa was quietly talking to Riza, a hand on her arm. Riza looked close to tears. I stood there for a long moment. Riza reached up and dabbed at her eyes. I glanced at Roy. His expression was tender and affectionate and he couldn't tear his eyes away from Riza. I looked back at the two women. I wondered shortly if the Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye on the other side of the Gate could possibly be in love as much as this Roy and Riza. They probably were. But their situations were different, and always would be.

I suddenly felt like I had forgotten something, like something was missing. A deep feeling of panic rose in my chest but for a moment I couldn't understand what was going on.

And then it hit me, and ignoring Roy trying to stop me, I walked forward down the hall. "Noa," I said. She turned around. "Noa."

"What is it?" she asked, and Riza turned her face away, ashamed.

"Where is Alfons?" I asked her, and instantly her face went gray. I could tell she felt the same way I did; it was like a chill ran down both of our spines simultaneously. Riza looked back at us, the tear tracks still visible on her face.

"I left him with in the room, with Shauna."

I wanted to say, _He's not in there_ but I was trying to convince myself that I was wrong, so I turned around and quickly walked back to the living room. The girls were all sitting there, Shauna right next to Becca, soaking in her every word.

"Noa," I called, as she rushed towards me. "He's not in here!"

A deep, overwhelming panic settled in my chest, constricting my lungs so I couldn't breathe. She was instantly by my side, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Shauna," I said, interrupting Becca. "Where is the baby?"

Shauna glanced at me. "Al wanted to hold him. Being the uncle and all, I thought that'd be okay with you." A worried look began to creep into her expression. "Didn't Al give him to you? He said he was going to talk to you…"

Winnie had stopped playing the piano. The room was dead silent. Riza let out a slow, shuddering breath.

I remembered the slam of the front door when I was talking to Becca and suddenly it hit me, like a ton of earth collapsing onto my head. I couldn't breathe as I slowly turned back to Noa, who had a terrified look on her face.

I said, "He took him. Al took him."

"_Al?_" she asked, and I could tell she couldn't believe me. But I didn't have time to explain anything to her. Roy called my name as I ran to the door, but I didn't stop. I was out the door and turning on the car, revving the engine, but it wouldn't start.

"_Dammit!_" I screamed, and I took off running, and as I headed towards the place where Al lived, hoping to whatever higher power I believed in that he would be there, everything started to fall into place in my mind.

A long time ago, my father explained to me how to summon the Gate – the method that Dante used, at least. I didn't know if that worked the same way on this side of the Gate, but Al was desperate and as good as crazy, and I wouldn't put it past him to think of that, at this stage. As Al had said before, everyone has a Gate inside of them, but as we age, we become attached to the physical world and lose our awareness of it – and thus our ability to summon it. But with someone still new to this world, someone whose link is still strong, say perhaps a baby…well, it would be more than possible. Dante proved it was very nearly easy.

I had relayed this to Al after he crossed over, when I was catching him up on what had happened to me since I had crossed the Gate.

Al had been planning, as far as I had known, to use Becca to summon the Gate. And then came along the answer he had been looking for, carried in Noa's arms. I had the feeling that he didn't entirely expect this to work. But he had taken my child, and I wasn't about to take that lightly.

I ran as fast as I could, my legs and my blood pumping. What if I was too late? Whatever happened, whatever was going to happen, those _what if_s, they horrified me. Alchemy was possible in this world, possible enough to open a Gate. Al had laid it all out for me, explained everything, and he believed it needed a sacrifice, and, _goddammit_, did he really expect to use my child, his own flesh and blood, to selfishly get himself back to his home?

He wouldn't do it. Of course he wouldn't; there was no way he could kill anyone, much less a _baby._ But that didn't stop me from running as hard as I could, because somewhere in the back of my mind I was terrified, and I wouldn't stop being terrified until I had my son safe in my arms again.

I skidded to a halt when I got to the right street, slipping and falling, but scrambling back up and moving my legs as fast as I could towards his house. I barged into the door, expecting it to be locked – but strangely, it swung right open. The house was dead silent. A shiver went through my body. What if he wasn't even there?

"Al!" I called. "Al! Where are you?" I opened doors, one after the other, until suddenly I heard the sound of a baby crying. "Al!" I yelled again, and I didn't even know which one of them I was yelling to. I rushed towards the end of the hallway, to the next door, and I ripped it open and-

Al was sitting on a bed. When I opened the door, he whipped his head around and looked at me with wide, frightened eyes. Lying on the bed, in the same bundle he had been in in Noa's arms, laid the little baby Alfons.

There was silence in the room.

I said, "Al. What are you doing?"

"You know what I'm doing," he murmured. "And I'm glad you came."

Silence.

"Stop it, Al. I can't believe what you just did. Do you realize-" I took a step forward, shaking my head, trying to slow my heart rate, when Al's eyes widened even further.

Suddenly, somehow, he pulled a knife and he said, "Stop, stop, stop it. Don't move, I'll activate the circle!" He pressed the knife against his palm, holding it above the baby. "My blood, Ed, that's all it needs! My blood and then this baby and this we go home, then _you_ go home, don't tell me you don't want it! Don't tell me you wouldn't trade Noa for Winry in a second, don't lie to yourself, this isn't the life you want!" He was breathing quickly and heavily, tears streaming down his face.

"_Al!_" I shouted, but he screamed over me.

"I don't care!" he screeched. "I don't care if this is what you want, this is not what _I want _and I don't care anymore, I just want things to be like they were! Isn't that more important? _Aren't I more important?_"

He dug the blade into his hand and I threw myself at him, knocking him off the bed. The baby cried as I pinned Al to the floor; his chest heaved with manic sobs. He looked so terribly pathetic that I had to force myself to keep him restrained, and a sick feeling rose into my chest when I realized how far gone he really was. He seemed completely out of his mind – he wouldn't have done any of this if he wasn't, and as his body shook and tears ran down his red face, I took pity on him, my own brother, and I let up slightly. Wildly, he threw his arms into the air, waving the knife at me, and suddenly I was covered in blood and there was a spluttering, hacking sound to Al's coughs and I couldn't believe it – I couldn't believe that Al would do this to me, would really go as far as to injure me, to dig that knife into my flesh and spill my blood, and in that moment I truly believed that, if I hadn't gotten here in time, he would have sacrificed my child for his own sake, to get back to the world that he lived in without being constantly manipulated and used. I believed that he had lost all traces of his sanity, and with tears in my eyes I pressed his arms into the ground and put a knee on his chest and there were more, louder heaving, gross hacking noises and then…

And it was then that I let go of him and fell to his side and stared at my blood-covered hands, horrified. Al dragged himself to his hands and knees, his feverish coughing wracking his entire body, blocking out the sounds of the baby crying, and he looked at me with eyes full of pain and regret and then he whispered, "I'm…sorry…" and then he collapsed into the pool of blood below him.

Trembling, I looked at my hands once more. The knife had never touched my skin. The blood staining my skin and caked beneath my fingernails was not my own.

Instantly, with shaking hands, I put my fingers to Al's neck, scrambling to feel a pulse, my mind slowly soaking in what had just happened, just as the blood from his coughs soaked into my skin and my clothing. My brain was falling apart. I couldn't remember where I was, or why there was a baby crying, or why the _hell_ I had just been pressing my knee against my brother's lungs…

I felt so incredibly helpless as I let the tears fall, searching desperately for a pulse, looking for some sign that I hadn't lost him forever. I could never get him back, not this time. Not if he died here.

The baby stopped crying and I sat there holding my breath, waiting for the sound of Al's shuddering inhale.

There was silence.

* * *

this is why my readers hate me

I have had the roughest 5 months of my life, trying to adapt to life in a completely new country. I'm working on the next chapter at the moment. I don't know when this will all be finished but it has become a personal project. It will be done. I can't apologize enough and I can't thank you enough.

Yes, Al is very much different and that will hopefully be addressed in due time.

Happy New Year. Hello, 2011.


	32. Freedom

Chapter Thirty: Freedom

I called them from the hospital.

Roy answered. "Ed!" he said, sounding tense. "Where are you? What happened?"

"It's..." I bit my lip, unable to speak. "Could I speak to Noa?"

"Of course."

The sounds of the phone exchanging hands.

"Edward? Where's-"

"The baby's fine," I replied tiredly. "He's here with me." I heard her catch her sigh of relief; even if she wasn't touching me, she still knew what I was thinking. Meekly, she asked, "And...Al?"

I looked at the ground, choosing my words carefully.

"He's...alive."

Silence.

"Where are you?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"The hospital."

"The hospital?" I heard Roy say something. "Roy says he'll take me. I'll be there. Tell Al-"

"I can't talk to him right now, Noa."

"Of course you can."

"No, I mean, I _can't._" I paused, trying not to shake. "He's unconscious."

She said, "I'll be right there, please stay strong."

And then she was gone.

Holding my son in my arms, I went back to Al's bedside. Things had calmed down significantly in the past hour or so. At first there had been doctors and nurses rushing around him, trying to do things to him that I didn't understand, and I felt so helpless as I stood there, a baby in my arms, completely useless. I could just watch. His breathing had been faint, but thank God it was there – I had been terrified. No, I still was terrified. I wouldn't calm down until he woke up.

I hadn't been able to contact Noa until just then, and despite knowing she was finally coming, my nerves didn't settle at all.

I sat there for several minutes silently. The baby finally went to sleep. Al's eyes were closed, his face pale and drenched in sweat. I tried to forget the moment when he started coughing, and the blood had spilled out of his mouth and onto the both of us. I had washed my hands thoroughly, but they still smelled like his blood.

A doctor finally made it to Al's bed. I stood up quickly. "How is he?" I asked.

The doctor did a few routine checks. "It looks like his breathing is as smooth as we're going to get it tonight," he told me. "There's only so much we can do right now. We'll be able to help him more when he wakes up."

"And when will that be?"

The doctor shrugged grimly. "It's really impossible to tell." A pause. "There's a chance he might not."

My heart clenched, constricting my lungs.

The doctor was looking at me sadly. "If it wakes up in the next few hours, he'll likely be fine, with the right treatment." A pause. "I've got a few questions about his health, though. Are you...?"

"His brother," I replied, looking at him. He glanced at the child in my arms. "My son," I explained. The doctor nodded.

"Any symptoms you've noticed prior to this?"

"Well, no," I said, then I stopped myself. There had been something. But that was so long ago... "He was sick for a while," I told the doctor. "Real skinny, lots of coughing. But that was almost a year ago."

The doctor let out a low whistle. "A year. That's not good."

I had to physically stop myself from trembling. "He got medication for that. But to be honest I haven't been living with him, I don't know if there's been anything recently."

"Oh really? Is there any way to contact someone who might know more?"

From the entrance to the ward, I heard voices; I glanced that way.

"I demand you let us in!" raged an angry Roy Mustang; in his tow was Noa, Winnie and – of course – Rebecca.

"She would," I said, pointing to Rebecca. The doctor glanced at me, then her, then waved to the nurses who were restraining Roy and the others. Noa rushed to me, gently squeezing my shoulder; instantly she understood everything that had happened. She took the baby out of my hands and kissed my cheek.

"It's okay," she said, and she almost tried to smile.

"What happened?" asked Roy and Winnie at the same time.

"I don't know exactly," I said. "Why don't we ask her."

I looked at Rebecca.

She looked around at all of us.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"Miss," said the doctor, clearing his throat. "Do you know this man?" He nodded towards Al.

"Yes," she replied cautiously. "I live with him."

"And have you noticed any unusual symptoms lately? Anything at all?"

She looked at all of us again, then shortly, "No."

She barely whispered it, but the lie was so obvious it was like she was shouting in our faces. I stepped forward, ready to make her talk, but before I could, Roy had roughly grabbed her arm. He pulled her around to face him, his anger boiling in his eyes.

"Rebecca," he said, something close to a snarl on his face. "Listen to me. Look me in the eye." She wouldn't. He took hold of her chin and forced her to look at him. "Look at me." She finally met his gaze. "Let me make one thing very clear. This bitch act? It's not cute anymore. And you can laugh all you want but this is one thing that I'm not going to allow you to shrug off. You see that boy on the bed there? He could be dying. And as far as I know, it's your fault. So for Christ's sake, Rebecca, _tell us what you know._"

"I don't know anything," she said, snatching her arm away from him.

He stared at her.

"You're never coming back to my house, Rebecca," he said quietly, angrily. Winnie almost protested, but she stayed silent. "I swear to God." He took a deep breath and turned around, looking at the room. "I really think you should tell the doctor what you know, Rebecca," he said, refusing to look at her. "Because I'm about ten seconds away from beating your ass worse than your stepfather ever could."

Silence.

Then, staring at the ground, she mumbled, "I got him medicine."

"What?" I asked sharply.

"Medicine," she said, louder now. "I may be selfish but I'm not stupid. I don't want him to die, whatever you think."

"And this..._medicine_," said the doctor; it was clear what he thought she had given him. "Where did you get it?"

She was silent for a second.

Roy reached out to take hold of her arm again.

"A doctor!" she said quickly, stepping out of Roy's reach. "A real doctor!"

"Really," said the doctor sceptically.

"_Really_," she insisted, glaring at him.

"Who?"

She looked uncomfortably around.

Winnie laughed. We all looked at her.

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it?" she asked, almost affectionately. "Becca never pays for anything. At least, not with money."

The doctor looked at Rebecca. "Is this true?"

Finally, she nodded. The doctor sighed; then he signalled for a nurse. "We'll sort this out," he said. "Excuse us." He gestured for Rebecca to step away from the rest of us, to talk to the nurse. Grudgingly, she did so.

Roy instantly said, "I am so sorry for her. I-"

"Don't," I said, holding up a hand. "If anyone's fault, this is mine. I should've...well. There are a lot of things I should have done."

Winnie let out a bark-like laugh again. "You two. It's like one big pity party in here. Can't we all just blame Becca and be done with it?"

She was met with silence, and she sank into a quiet sulk.

That was when I noticed Noa hovering over Al, touching his hand gently. I stepped close to her, putting my mouth to her ear so neither Roy or Winnie could hear. "What do you see?" I asked.

She pulled her hand away. "Not much," she murmured in reply. "Everything's so blurred..."

"Aren't you supposed to be able to see best when people are asleep?" I asked, desperate.

"He's not asleep, Ed," she replied gently. "He's unconscious. There's a difference."

I ground my teeth.

"But he's going to wake up," Noa assured me. "Soon. I promise."

Helplessly, I asked her, "How do you know?"

She smiled sadly and touched my face, brushing a strand of hair out of my eyes. "He's not going to let you lose him," she whispered. "Not like this. Not again."

I looked at her, then at him, then I nodded. "Right," I said, trying to hide my fear. "You're right."

It was a few minutes later that Rebecca returned with the doctor. For once, she actually looked embarrassed. "Well, it looks like the medication he received was the best he could've gotten," sighed the doctor. "Which explains why he's not as bad as he should be right not. But that doesn't explain why he _is_ as bad as he is right now. If he'd been taking the medicine, he should be just fine by now."

We all looked at Rebecca.

She let out an exasperated sigh. "He took everything I got him." Defiantly, she added, "And I'm not lying this time!"

The doctor asked, "Did you watch him take the medicine?"

She didn't say anything, only stared at the doctor. Then she looked at Al, and she managed to say, "I... no. I didn't."

The doctor looked at us. "Well, it seems that for some reason, he stopped taking the perfectly legitimate medicine he had out of his own accord." He paused. "But I suppose none of us will know why until he wakes up." Another silence. Then he nodded to all of us. "Excuse me," he said, and he turned and slipped away.

I turned and walked to Al's bed. Roy took a few chairs and set them beside the bed; I sat in one, grateful to be off my feet. I could barely take in all that had happened. All I could think about was my brother's prone body lying on the hospital bed in front of me.

I hadn't even noticed that Rebecca had sat down across from me when Roy said, "Becca. It's probably better if you leave."

She gaped at him, offended. "I will not leave!" she said indignantly. "I think I of all people deserve the right to be with him now! What if I lose him?" She took Al's hand and pressed it against her face, but she couldn't even fake tears. "I couldn't stand that," she sighed. "Not my poor darling."

"Becca," I said.

She looked at me. She put his hand down.

Curtly, she said, "You're not the only one who cares about him, Edward."

"Bullshit."

We looked at Winnie, who was standing at the foot of the bed. She had a miserable smirk on her face. She rolled her eyes, then asked, "What's that on your finger, Becca?"

She instantly covered her hand. "It's nothing. A present."

"A ring?" asked Noa, confused.

Ignoring Noa, Winnie continued, "An engagement present, Becca? Is that it?"

"No," replied Becca quickly. "Of course not."

"Because there's no way you'd marry him," said Winnie, shaking her head. "You wouldn't marry anyone. Because that'd be like telling somebody you love them, and God knows you can't do that."

"Winry."

"Don't interrupt me, Becca. You can reject that poor boy as much as you want, that alone proves nothing." She laughed again. "But the fact that you have the gall to wear that ring on your right hand...well. I've never seen anyone like you, lovely, but I guess that shouldn't surprise me." Silence. "You don't love him."

"You're wrong," sniffed Becca. "I love him very much."

"I bet you wouldn't be saying that if he were awake."

"I bet you wouldn't even be here if you hadn't slept with his brother."

"Becca," said Roy, stepping between them. "That's inappropriate," he said to her, and then he turned to Winnie and muttered, "Don't let her provoke you like this."

But the damage was done. Winnie looked at Rebecca, then at me, then shook her head. And for a second I thought she was going to leave and go back to the house, but she surprised me by standing her ground.

"Don't worry," she said. "I've found her goading doesn't work half as well when she knows she's lying."

A scowl momentarily crossed Rebecca's face. That was when Winnie turned and walked away. I glanced at Noa, who nodded. Then I stood up as well. "Winnie. Winnie, wait."

She stopped and looked back at me.

I began, "You don't-"

"I know," she replied, faking a smile. "But it's fine. She's going to stay, and I'd rather not start a fight in a hospital so..." She shrugged. "Time to go."

Silence. Then I said, "Fine. Tell all the girls that we're okay. Hopefully he'll...wake up soon."

"Hold on. She'll leave as soon as she talks to him."

This time, I almost laughed. "I doubt that. But thanks for the encouragement."

Her smile was closer to being real now. "Goodnight, Ed."

"'Night, Winnie."

She left.

I went back to Al's bedside. Roy said, "I should probably go with her. She needs me to drive her, anyway."

"Yeah," I replied. "Go ahead. It's late, your family needs you. We'll be here."

"All right," said Roy. He looked expectantly at Rebecca. She returned the look. He shook his head and followed Winnie out.

And then it was just Rebecca, Noa, the baby and I. Noa sat against me, resting her head on my shoulder, her fingers resting on the bare skin of Al's hand. Rebecca just sat there, leaning against the wall. Eventually, the silence gave way to her gentle snores as she fell asleep. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't even close my eyes as I began to digest what I had just witnessed.

I had so many questions for my brother. But at the same time, they were things I was almost afraid to ask, because I had almost lost him tonight and somehow I knew it would be hard for him to talk about these things with me. And I didn't ever want to make anything hard for him ever again; when he woke up, I knew I'd be relieved. I wondered if I'd ever manage to ask him the things that needed to get out into the open.

Suddenly, Noa sat up straight, her hand closing around his. "He's waking up!" she said, and Rebecca started awake; something told me she had only been pretending to be asleep, and usually that would have bothered me, but right then I couldn't think about that. I could only see my brother. Al, whose head moved slightly, and then his eyes fluttered a little, and then-

A deep, shuddering breath. His head turned my way.

"Brother," he murmured.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Yeah," I said. "It's me, Al."

He blinked at me. "Are we home?" he asked, his breath barely above a whisper.

"No," I told him. "No, Al. We're still here. Here in America, with Noa."

His eyes travelled past me. Noa smiled at him. The corners of his lips turned upwards the slightest bit. "That's what I meant," he whispered hoarsely. "Home."

Noa had to raise a hand to her face to hide the tears welling in her eyes. She looked away; I put my arm around her. Rebecca put her hand on Al's other arm.

"I'm here too, Alphonse," she said tenderly, lovingly. She leaned down and kissed him. "You're such a fool. Never scare me like that again! I thought I was going to be all alone." She kissed him again. "Why didn't you take that medicine I got you, love? That was so you could be better. So we could be together forever."

He said nothing. Then, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He mumbled, "I didn't like the way you'd paid for it."

She looked, once again, almost embarrassed. "Nonsense," she said, brushing his hair fondly. "That was all for you, my love."

I barely had enough strength to stay sitting up, and yet a fire was already burning in my belly. I still hated Rebecca. I couldn't help it. Every move she made was so contrived, the look in her eye still icy and cold. But I didn't say anything. I didn't want to upset Al, when he had just woken up.

Except I needed to upset him. I needed to _talk_ to him, regardless of how he would feel about it. And regardless of who was there. "Al," I said. "I need to talk to you."

He looked at me. "You probably want an explanation."

"To say the least."

He looked at me, then his hands. Then he opened his mouth.

And then Rebecca said, "Alphonse, darling. You don't need to explain anything to him."

"I owe it to him, Becca."

"You owe him nothing." She took hold of him and physically turned him to look at her. "He left you, remember? But I'm still here. I've been here since we met. I didn't leave you. I never will. It's probably best if you just forget about him. I'll be happier that way. You want me to be happy, right?"

Al was silent for a long moment. I restrained myself from saying anything, choosing instead to look away.

"It's probably best," said Al slowly, echoing her words, "if you would leave now, Rebecca."

Silence.

A gentle smile still frozen on her face, she asked, "What?"

"Take the house," he said. "And the car. And the money, I don't care. Just give me my book. And then I'll leave, and you can do whatever you want with your life. I won't stop you anymore."

She stared at him.

"Alphonse," she said. "Alphonse, you must still be delirious. Take a good long nap, talk to me later. You'll be all better then."

"Rebecca," he said, looking straight at her. "I'm serious."

She opened her mouth; her breath came out unevenly. Something unhinged in her eyes. "But...Alphonse," she said faintly. "You love me."

"Yes," he said. "I do. And I think that's the only true thing you've said since I met you. I do love you." He stopped. "But you're never going to love me."

"Don't be stupid," she said. She raised her hand, pulled the ring off her finger, and quickly slid it onto the other hand, then held it in front of her face. "Look," she said. "Look! We're engaged now! I'll marry you! You're not going to leave me now, are you?"

He looked at her.

"You can't," she said. "We're going to have it all. We were going to have everything, Alphonse!" A manic look in her eye, she roughly pressed her lips against his. "See?" she asked. "You can't leave that. You never would."

"Becca."

"Stop saying my name!" she screeched. Then, realizing how panicked she sounded, she took a deep breath, and looked to the ground. "I need you," she whispered. "I need you in my life, Alphonse. Why would you leave me all alone? Why would you abandon me?"

He said nothing.

Her eyes shining, she asked, "Did I ever mean anything to you?" Nothing. "Were you...using me?"

Silence.

"Alphonse," she said. "Answer me."

Nothing.

She took hold of him, her nails digging into his shoulders like talons. "Answer me!" she repeated, loudly. Suddenly, she physically shook him, shrieking, "Why would you leave me!"

I was holding her shoulder before I realized I had stood up. "Stop!" she shouted, batting at my hand. "You're hurting me!"

She realized no one was buying it and shut up.

"Rebecca," I said with finality. "It's time to go."

She looked at him, then me, then at the floor.

She stood up quickly, dusting her dress off. "Fine," she said, trying to save face. But it was already too late for that. We had seen her flawless, hardened facade break. She hadn't managed to hide the desperation that usually lay dormant within. "Goodbye, Alphonse," she said. "I'll be taking your money out of the bank."

"I'll come for the book."

She almost rolled her eyes, but she didn't move.

"Becca," said Al one last time. "Please. Go."

She looked at him, then she turned to face me and said, her eyes narrow and accusing, "I will _never_ forgive you for this. This is my entire future you're stealing from me."

And then she turned on her heel and left.

Al sank into his bed with a sigh.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Thank you, Ed," he said.

And I couldn't help but smile, because he looked freer than he'd been in a long, long time.

* * *

In this chapter, everyone is freed from the worst thing in their lives. But it's up to your own interpretation as to what that is, especially concerning Al.

This story has become more of a personal project than anything else. I am determined to finish it, and I know it will. If you all want to abandon the story by now, it's fine. I just need proof that I finished it.

But this is not the end.

By the way, I'm also in the process of writing a Death Note story set after the conclusion of the series. It's a collaboration with my friend Andrea, who I have successfully converted. It's going to involve most of your favorite characters (with the exception of L, of course), and even a character or two you aren't expecting to see. Definitely expect to see some of that by the end of this year. Since it's a collaboration, I'm going to be much more motivated and successful in dedicating myself towards this story. And it has a lonnnng, non-overly-dramatic plot. Involving lots of wonderful death. And everyone's favorite mass murderer, Light Yagami. Yay Light!


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